Crossfade
by Reichenbach
Summary: Rose and the Doctor are once again in the same universe after seventeen years. Now, if they can live long enough to save both realities, they might just get their happy ending. Last story in this arc and verse. Post Doomsday fixerupper 10th in series
1. Chapter 1

Standard disclaimers apply. Thanks once again to Rosesbud for corrections, suggestions and generally helping me think (sorry, all straw up there). So this is it… last story in the saga (can I call it that without sounding pretentious?). You guys have been awesomes, sticking with me for this long, and thank you for all the feedback. It is always so appreciated when people take the time to say hey : )

XYZ

Cross Fade

Chapter One

XYZ

Being in a place devoid of both space and time was a bit disarming to the senses. There existed no future, no past, no possibilities—just the moment. It lacked anything to grab on to, any points of reference to orient oneself. It was nothing. It was the Void.

It caused the mind to wander.

Violet's few experiments with the 'other TARDIS,' as it had always been referred to, had ended in moderate success; she'd gotten home alive, after all. It was the middle parts of the journey that had been a total flaming, flying disaster every time.

One time, the Doctor had been with her, and they ended up at the very beginning of the universe, when they were only trying to skip back two weeks. It had taken them a week to get back to where they started out. Another time she'd ended up meeting a rather old and grumpy version of the Doctor who'd been utterly annoyed that someone without a degree and obviously little training was roaming around time and space in a semi-functional ship that wasn't fully grown.

There'd been dinosaurs another time, and she found out just how durable the exterior of a TARDIS could be, and the exact sound a T-Rex tooth makes when it's snapping painfully down the middle. That hadn't been too hard to get back from, though it had caused emotional torture because she was forced to hard wire a huge hunk of quartz in to the time controls to get him going again. She tried to keep the console neat and tidy, and that had been messy and aesthetically maddening.

Her least favourite failed trip with the TARDIS (somehow it could handle space, but time caused things to blow up and power down in the worst ways) had also involved another incarnation of the Doctor.

Ok, the old guy was a stick in the mud of staggering proportions. But this other one…

First of all, she'd been trying to go forward in time, but the ship just couldn't handle it. She ended up flung a miniscule amount backwards, floating out in space, all the time circuits completely dead, not to mention entirely unsure what to do about it. First project was to find a planet with technology. Fortunately the space controls were functioning.

After determining that she wasn't smart enough to fix it on her own (this took a week and a half of frustrating trial and error, coupled with scouring every manual and book on board the ship), she decided to bite the bullet, as it were, and ask for help. Which meant figuring out what time she was in and finding the Doctor. It wasn't that she was paradox-happy, it was just that she didn't want to be trapped in whatever lame time she'd found herself forever.

Of course, because she didn't have any luck at all (good thing she was decent at maths, otherwise she'd have been in a world of trouble, with the situations she often found herself in), she was in the very near past, and the Doctor was travelling with her mother.

It caused her physical pain in the pit of her stomach when she saw them—the temptation was to run up and throw herself into her mother's arms. She couldn't remember missing her mum quite so much as when she'd seen her, window shopping with some tall, annoying man who looked like he really didn't want to be there. She could see her mum, but she couldn't touch, and it nearly killed her. It had helped, though, that this Doctor was quite miserable to be around. It at least made her want to limit contact.

Took her another three days to get him alone, six lies and two mind-blocks to get around completely having to explain who she was and where she'd come from (apparently this version of him—odious man—didn't take 'I could tell you, but then you'd know, and that'd be a paradox, and my text books say I'm not allowed to create those...' for an answer easily).

Then there was the painful part where he squinted and said that he remembered her, and was she STILL mucking about in time and space without the proper qualifications? Couldn't she just go home and behave herself?

She'd never really gotten into screaming matches with her Doctor. Ok, once or twice, usually over something stupid, but she was so angry with this Doctor that she'd glared at him, arms folded over her chest, grumbling "yeah, like you've always done everything you were told. Mister 'Stolen TARDIS, oh no one will miss a boosted model 40,' so just get off it." It had shut him up though.

It took another two days after that to fix the thing. He acted putout and utterly annoyed with her mere existence the entire time while he was helping her—explaining everything she'd done wrong and criticizing her lack of improvisation with the broken parts. There was no point in trying to repair things that obviously were past their lifespan, so wouldn't she just be a good girl and take this ship to a proper repair yard after this, and leave him alone?

You'd think he'd be happy, that he wasn't going to be alone forever, but she got the impression it was because he was convinced she was only there due to some time anomaly, and she was from some point in his past. It was odd—the lack of proper parts for replacements should have tipped him off, and that she was there at all—had she been around during the Time Wars, she should have blipped out of existence, and they'd never have had that lovely two days together. It was wrong of her, but sometimes she hoped that that version of the Doctor had died a painful death.

Apparently, her being in need of HIS help meant that it was open season on Violet. She'd tried to just take it with a stiff upper lip, but this really was the point where she'd stomp off in a huff with anyone else, including her Doctor—whom she did demand an apology from, once she finally got back home.

He found her Earth clothes, black jeans and a dark green hoodie depressing, and an awful disguise when coupled with her Rasteran custom-made boots and a bandana that was really a cutup of an Aglofic silk scarf. She should really pay attention to the local attire better if she insisted on wandering about the universe without proper certifications.

She wondered aloud how many helpless cows had to die for the sake of his hideous submarine captain knock-off coat and combat boots.

He asked if she'd been thinking about that when she'd eaten that chicken salad sandwich for lunch. She said that cows were like dolphins—too cute to eat, but conceded that tuna tasted better before it was dolphin-safe.

At this point the Doctor had gone back to hard-wiring a toaster (which made the veins in her forehead throb—probably further convincing him that she was an anal-retentive Gallifreyan who didn't deal well with change but was testing out the whole rebellious teenager thing none-the-less) into the time relays in the floor, trying not to smile. See, she wasn't so bad, after all.

Things had been a touch better than that. Or at least quieter. She had no idea how or why her mother would travel with someone so…impossible. And tetchy. Did she mention tetchy? Gave her a whole new perspective and appreciation for her Doctor. He could be annoying with rules and such, but at least he wasn't… grrr all the time. Or manic. Violet had mentioned later on to her Doctor that his previous self had really been in need of medication. He'd just done that thing where he gave a knowing smile and mashed the hair around on her head with his affectionate rubbing, explaining that he'd been 'going through some things,' whatever that meant.

So, anyways. That was the sordid tale of her adventures in trying to actually make that other TARDIS work. The thing couldn't travel in time for anything, but darn it, the chameleon circuit worked. She was growing fond of the ugly pewter urn exterior, but was pleased that it could disguise itself quite well when she asked nicely. Violet didn't exactly have a bond with the ship, in the way the Doctor had with his big blue box, but it sort of obeyed her, now and again. And it listened to her complain, which was something to be said for him, her temperamental TARDIS that still seemed to be going through some sort of adolescence.

He wasn't fully grown, that was for sure. The largest exterior he could manage was the urn shape. The number of rooms fluctuated, but it was usually somewhere in the low twenties. When she was fourteen, the Doctor told her that they'd grow together, if it was any consolation. But then he'd ruffled her hair and laughed, saying if she was less cantankerous then maybe the ship would be too.

Nine years she'd worked on that ship…and it still couldn't manage time travel without explosions and drama. Of course, the Doctor had given up on the chameleon circuit in his ship after about five hundred years of tinkering. How annoying to work on something so long and see no results.

Somewhere back when she was sitting at Greg's desk, trying to find a path through the Void, she figured out why the thing was broken—it was truly from the other universe having trouble drawing energy in this universe. Apparently thanks to the parts and modifications contributed by the Doctor in the early stages of the repair, it had enough materials from his universe to handle simple space calculations. Anything other than that usually ended in some level of disaster.

What did that have to do with the Void? She had no idea. It was, however, the only thing her mind could manage to latch onto. She knew how to get the urn working again.

Didn't help her get out of the Void, though. She knew where her end-point was, but she had no path for getting there. It was like free falling and being smothered, in the same instant. She was cold, but every nerve was on fire. There was nothing. Light, hope, love… even the memory of warm summer days was forbidden here. Did she think she could step into this, and find her way out? Did she think that the actions of one girl who couldn't even reach the top shelf in the kitchen cupboards and who (depressingly) still didn't need a training bra could actually pass between universes without… a miracle?

She wondered if she would die here.

Worse yet—she wondered if she would exist here for all eternity. No wonder her mother's people called it Hell.

XYZ

They all just kind of stood around, the four of them staring at the glowing field of light and energy. Jack watched a timer on one of the generators tick down as its power drained. Before it lost all of its stores, and thereby the ability to recharge itself, he shut down one and gestured for Toshiko to power down the other.

Greg watched the field dissolve into nothingness and the lights on the device go dim, leaving the room in twilight. "So what do we do?" he asked quietly, then looked away guiltily. "I should have gone with her. To hell with what she said—I should have gone with her."

The woman with the long black hair—Gwen if he was remembering her name right (he was rubbish with names), put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently. "She's doing what she thinks she has to. With going, and with keeping you safe."

He looked both to Jack and Toshiko. "Is there a way we can open it back up? Maybe I can follow--"

Smoothing out the wrinkles in her white short-sleeved jumper, Toshiko folded her arms over her chest. "Not for at least two hours. Even then, the generators won't be recharged to capacity."

Hands in his pocket, Jack joined the other three in staring down at the dead device, listening to the fans on the server hum a deafening white noise. "Runs on the trans-dimensional radiation spewed out by the Rift. They recharge pretty fast, but even they need some time. Lets just see if she can do this on her own. She has her phone. She can call if she needs to."

The boy despised Captain Jack his ability to be calm. Greg had gone on earlier about how she was a Time Lady, with command over the five dimensions; therefore she had nothing to worry about. Well, maybe she didn't, but he did. She was just a kid, and she was running off into danger with no one to get her out. Sure, he'd been the one most in need of rescue the last year or so, but he couldn't imagine going off into something like that alone. "I—there was something I didn't tell her."

Gwen and Jack looked at each other, having some kind of conversation with their eyes. Her eyes grew wide, like she was yelling at him to do something. Finally, Jack pulled his hands out of his pockets. "Tosh, why don't you and Gwen go back to the office. We need someone to check all the satellites and censors, and make sure nothing's happened with the Rift and nothing frightening and with a plunger on the end has snuck through from the Void. I have a few gadgets of mine that I need to dig out of this mess," he gestured to the bed full of cables and pipes and wires. "I'll stick around, make sure no other calls come through."

The two women left, and Jack was left in the dark with the forlorn looking young man. Jack flipped on the lamp next to the roommate's bed. The room filled with but a handful of glorious watts—it was like lighting a birthday candle in a cavern. But at least he wouldn't trip over anything in the mean time. "So. You just figured it out."

The young man's brown eyes slowly rose to meet his. "Figured what out? That I'm an idiot?" Running a hand through his dark hair, he bent over to pick up the juice box off the floor. Grabbing the used napkin, he crinkled it, but didn't throw either away.

Casually, Jack began shutting off the monitors. "That you like her as more than a friend."

Despite the kid's dark coloring, he blushed. "I don't know. First of all, I'm nineteen, she's sixteen. That's…well, lets put it this way—the Doctor said if I even thought about it, I'd find myself inside of an active volcano." He clenched his eyes shut. "But when she asked if I was ready to never see my mum ever again, I was ready to say I'd take that chance for her."

Jack tried to think up some consoling words, but was fresh out. This was probably the most confusing and potentially traumatic moment of the kid's young little life. Oh, to be that young and stupid again. Well, Jack had been that young once. He couldn't remember being quite so stupid. Not by that age.

It was sad, it was wretched, and Jack couldn't help but empathize. After all, a good bit of the stupid things that people did revolved around…Jack wanted to say sex, but these two pathetic hearts had 'pure as the driven snow' written across their foreheads in silver Sharpee. "You'll have your chance. Maybe you're not giving her enough credit."

Ok, now Jack was being…pathetic. He was actually consoling the young and tragically angst-filled. What he really wanted to say was 'welcome to Heartbreak, give it one or two more tries and you'll be living in the moment too.' But instead, he lied to the poor sod—basically saying it'd all work out in the end. The girl said she was 'going home.' Even if she managed to not get herself killed or trapped, she didn't have any intention of coming back.

Maybe Jack should just consider the perpetuated delusion his good deed for the day.

XYZ

It was self-evident why the ultimate end game of Torchwood was not the Doctor, and why they wouldn't even accept him as a consolation prize. They didn't expect him to cooperate.

The heavy shackles on his hands and feet and the thick psychic dampening collar around his neck was about all that he needed to take the hint. And they'd lost interest in torturing him around the time that Rose had escaped into the TARDIS. At this point—he was just along for the ride. Of course, that didn't make his shoulder feel any better, or the swollen wounds on the side of his head. It also only served to increase his worry for Violet.

There was no chair in this small cell. It was more like a cement box with a door on one end. He sat on the floor, attempting to figure out a way out of the Houdini setup.

Rose had screamed out for the girl not to do whatever she'd apparently got it in her head to try. Which was really just an open invitation to for the girl to do it larger, louder and more obnoxiously than before.

Now that he had a few minutes without new pains being inflicted upon his person, he was beginning to wrap his mind around it. This was an awful lot of work and an awful lot of trouble for an organization to go to for one girl.

Granted—at this point, Violet would appear to be malleable to them. There was no way in the universe that the Doctor would do Torchwood's bidding, but they had a chance with Violet. But there had to be something more. They'd been playing this game for years—why the sudden raise in the stakes?

Something had happened. Something had gone wrong. Probably something that their tiny little minds should have anticipated but hadn't. Possibilities flew through his mind, none of them even a tiny bit pleasant.

Besides needing to get out of here, he needed to find the head of the dragon. This operation was professional, but not strategically considered. It wasn't as if there'd been some kind of board meeting where this course of action was plotted out and considered at length. There was a single person driving this entire mess. Chopping off the head would leave the dragon unable to breath fire.

When the door to the cell opened and a shadowy figure entered, weapon in hand, the Doctor realized he'd have the opportunity for answers a bit sooner than he'd been anticipating. The silhouette took another step forward, eyes meeting the Doctor's as the shadow across the face disappeared. Oh, he probably should have figured. He hadn't, of course, but it should have been far more obvious to his vast intellect than it had been.

Nothing could ever be straightforward, could it?

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

Standard disclaimers. Thanks to Rosesbud for the beta. She am super awesomes with her timeliness.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter two

XYZ

The Doctor frowned, squinting up into the dim space. The chains on the shackles at his hands and feet rattled with the strain of his efforts, and the psychic dampener cut into the back of his neck. "I should have known. Over-reaching ambition peppered with a touch of hubris and a healthy side of incompetency. The more things change, the more they stay the same. So what is it this time? What's the game?"

The figure's arms folded across the chest. "I was hoping you'd be more surprised." Shoes clacked on the floor as the body approached.

With a pained smile, the Doctor attempted to slid his legs beneath himself, so that he could stand. Might as well face this head-on. "I know a lot about most things, and I know you. I know you think you're in charge of this little… situation." Sliding ingloriously up the wall, he looked his captor in the eye. "Here in this cell, and out there. But something's gone wrong out there, hasn't it? If you tell me—I'll help you."

The face fell back into shadows, head lifting and a snort ringing out. "You, help us? I don't think so, Doctor. You're the cause of the dilemma."

A menacing smile spread across the Doctor's lips, which happened to be completely asynchronous with the torn coat, bloody shoulder and bruised face. Despite this, his seriousness was very clear. "Let me rephrase that: I'm not helping you. I'm helping this Earth. Because if your people are involved, something's been botched and botched badly, and I have no doubt it is putting this world in danger. I have a moderately vested interest in this reality not falling apart—I've bothered saving it twice now, and it'd be a shame for all that hard work to come to naught."

Walking back to the door, his jailer turned back, flinging one more retort before the door slammed shut. "When we have our investment back…you'll be free to go."

The echo of the metal door clapping closed rung in the Doctor's head agonizingly for a few moments. Sighing, he slid down the wall again. 'Free to go' should really be interpreted as 'we'll no longer need you and you'll promptly be relieved of all your remaining regenerations once we have our own little Time Lord to do our bidding.'

He couldn't believe that they'd be so stupid as to think they could contain or control Violet. Something else was going horribly wrong and they (rightly) didn't trust him to resolve this in their favor.

Slamming his heel against the ground in frustration, he began looking at the shackles again, trying to think of a way out. Not too hard, mind you—every time he started actually processing a way out of the chains and manacles the psychic inhibitor shot an overload of information through him, tearing at his brain and leaving every part of him hurting.

The Doctor hoped Rose was fairing better than he was, otherwise they were doomed. Not in that melodramatic 'how are you going to kill me today' way that Violet had, but really honest-to-gosh doomy doom doomed doomness. With an ooey gooey chocolaty center.

Mostly he just hoped that Rose could cut Violet off at the pass, before she did anything stupid. He was certain she'd do something dangerous, so getting her to hold off on stupid was about all he had left to hope in. Of course, knowing her, 'stupid' was already in play.

XYZ

Well, this was a stupid idea. Lets just hurl ourselves at the Void and hope we can find a way out once the doorway to the other side is closed. The vastness of the stupidity was…a whole bunch. More than she could comprehend at the moment.

How long had she been here? Time was something she'd never had a problem understanding. It was always with her, like a radio playing in the background. Ignorable, but if you stopped, you could pick out the tune. There was none of that here. No white noise, no boredom or hunger or tiredness to mark the passing of a day.

The nothingness was painful. Was it possible for nothing to burn and chill every sense at once? Was it possible for the mind to be on fire, frozen and huddling within itself for warmth, hiding from a scorching blaze?

Then there was the question of sanity. But if you can question your sanity, doesn't that mean you're sane? She did not know if it was possible to stay sane in the fire and ice and the nothingness and the smothering dark.

She'd failed.

She'd gambled, taken a chance and it hadn't paid off. The Doctor had sent her to that time and place for a reason—specifically because of the changes happening with the Rift. They should have prevented her from even finding a way into the Void. They were certainly preventing her from finding a way out.

Lost in nothingness, forever. With Void monsters, Cybermen and Daleks.

The thought startled her out of the lethargy that was creeping into her mind. She'd encountered nothing here. Why?

Falling objects follow the geodesics of spacetime. Two objects couldn't occupy the same space at the same time. Gravitational attraction is directly proportional to mass. Spacetime is curved by the presence of matter. Symmetrical non-rotating uncharged objects. Black holes with multiple event horizons. All relying on one little thing…

Spider plants dangling in the sunlight, ivy slipping into the mortar of a building, tearing it to nothingness given enough time. The expansion of the universe. Wet grass, fossil fuels, lighthouses with abhorrent fog horns, traffic, the smell of baking bread, hot showers, the birth and death of planets, people and those little dehydrated shrimp you can buy in catalogues for nine ninety-five plus shipping.

The trains in Italy never ran on time before fascism. Time… time zones were the product of train schedules. Daylight savings, perpetual night in the Arctic Circle, pocket watches that need to be wound religiously every night before bed.

All of these things didn't exist here. There were no Daleks because there was no time, no place, no matter. There was no curve of spacetime, there was no slow march of time slowly spinning the world to chaos and the universe to expansion. There was no life or death, because there was nothing.

There had to be something. She had her conscious mind. She had her limbs, or perhaps they were the memory of limbs, reaching out into the smothering darkness for nothing. It was probably best to work under the assumption that, philosophically, her limbs were indeed limbs and not the product of a matterless mind.

Certainly she was made of matter. But there was no matter in the Void. Daleks had once come from the Void and were forced back into it. Surely they did not take on material existence once they passed from the nothingness? Something had to exist here.

If she found the Daleks, she'd find the pathway out.

XYZ

Things were going splendidly. Rose had certainly had better days. Like… being tortured by yeti. Or being abducted and held hostage by the Dalek emperor, surrounded by Daleks on a mother ship. This… was not going well. She needed to fix herself, then get weapons and save the Doctor. Who knew what trouble he was in now that they'd lost her as a hostage.

That being said…it was good to be home. The rough metallic coral felt familiar and welcoming beneath her hand as she used the walls as guidance while staggering through the ship.

Covered in blood, her own and others, Rose barely managed to find her way to the medical suite. The place was sanitary and white, so when she left bloody palm prints or dripped on the floor, it looked stark and odd, like she was invading this space with her incessant bleeding.

It wasn't necessarily a hole in her, so much as a tear. A very painful, bloody tear. Looking down at it, she sighed, working on trying to keep her breathing normal. Shock wasn't going to solve the problem. She could go into shock later, when this was all done and over with.

Of course, if she was thinking in such a detached manner about this—perhaps she was getting all the pain-dulling and emotional distancing effects of shock without the hand shaking, heart pounding cold sweats.

Trying to remember how to function the long telescope-like device in the corner of the room, she leaned against the wall. The Doctor had always done this for her. Well, that and it had been nearly two decades. Certainly she wasn't expected to remember something she'd only learned in passing eighteen years ago when the Doctor's previous self had punch some buttons, healed her broken bone, and then looked at her with that patronizing glare, asking if she'd memorized all that.

The six buttons on the device swam, becoming twelve. Twelve became… twenty-something. Whatever was twice twelve.

Leaning against the wall, Rose told herself that she was only resting for a moment, to clear her head. She told herself this even as she felt herself sliding down the wall.

Reality only set in when she realized she'd nodded off. Wrapping a hand around the wound, she tried to hold on to it, applying all of the pressure that she could muster. "Bugger," she whispered, passing out for real this time.

XYZ

Going looking for Daleks. Not the best plan she'd ever had. Any port in a storm, and all that.

Closing her possibly imaginary eyelids, Violet resisted the barrier of icy fire that was pressing in on her mind, fighting against the instinctive need to pull away and hide within herself. Pain was pain, and it was a part of life, so she'd might as well get on with it and walk amid the flames.

Her mind reached past the spectacle of misery surrounding her consciousness, stepping beyond herself…filling the Void with her consciousness. She'd always hated these psychic games, but did recognize their use, now and again.

The mist began to clear, at least her perception of it did. Size and substance didn't exist here, but she could see them—millions of Daleks and Cybermen, each lost in their own private hell.

What was hell to a Dalek?

Stuff better thought about at a later date, she told herself. Get on with it.

Finding mass in the nothingness, Violet reached out for time. She searched for the path the Daleks had taken to enter the Void. That was the tear at Canary Wharf, where they'd been sucked back into the nothing with the Cybermen. It was a charged, electric-like tendril that flickered, ending in a spot she felt more than saw. There may have been mass in this place, but space seemed more theoretical than fact at the moment.

She sought the Cybermen, next. Ignoring the purple tendril to Canary Warf, she tried to find the path that had lead to their initial entry into the Void.

It wasn't too terribly difficult to find the crack that lead to another reality. The tricky part was leafing through time, time that only existed because the objects in the Void, which were not native to the Void had once existed in time. Coming out too early or too late would certainly prove disastrous for her mother and the Doctor, and if that was the case, what was the point in this entire exercise?

Probing the silvery crackling weak spot, Violet tried to push her thoughts through, to reach out for the Doctor. She should be able to feel him, if she tried hard enough, and if he wasn't blocking her, out of some weird idea that it'd be better for her to not help.

There was nothing. Oh, she felt his past self, but not his present self. Was she already too late?

Some powerful empathic force hit her like a wave—worrying mixed with joy, mixed with a beckoning for her to come closer. An ideal trap, if some massive emotional entity could create such a feeling on command. But without any better ideas, she forced herself, by the power of will alone, towards it.

XYZ

There was a big long explanation involving gas pipes, but the tunnels in London were far deeper than they needed to be—at least in Mickey's opinion. Mostly this was because of his spotty (read: entirely up to chance) radio signal and non-existent mobile signal.

It was why he was running along a maintenance footbridge, looking for Pete. It should have been easy—if Daleks liked anything, they liked to talk. But these things weren't talking. Not the ones the and Pete had destroyed so far, not even that first one, over a week ago, that he and Rose had obliterated in an alley.

Of course, when they'd blown it up (with an enormous excess of force that had brought down a brick wall and destroyed part of the chain book retailer on the other side), they'd just been so thrilled that they'd killed it, before it had killed anyone, that they really hadn't thought much of it. It was only now that the story was repeating itself, for a fifth time now, that Mickey had figured it out.

Mostly it had taken destroying one and having enough shrapnel left to open the burnt out husk on the interior, which had also been left entirely up to chance and not due to any great skill on his part. To a degree, there wasn't much trick to killing a Dalek. Mostly, you just wanted to disrupt the personal force shield ('just'—hah. It was not an easy task—even with the Doctor's help over the last few years, developing something that worked a tenth of the time hadn't been a walk in the park, and this was their first live test, since you couldn't exactly keep subjects around like lab rats) and then turn the thing into as many little pieces as possible, then blow it up again.

And one Dalek was manageable. All five of these had been individual Daleks, acting on some strange initiative and logic that they couldn't yet determine. If these things managed to gather, or start taking orders from an entity with a larger plan, they'd be doing the proverbial kissing their tails goodbye.

There was also the fact that these Daleks weren't particularly bright. Talk about being in the slow class—Mickey had actually managed to lure the second one away from people. It had a whole crowd on a platform to go after, but Mickey had lured it into a tunnel. They were getting smarter, though. The last one had actually used indirect fire in an attempt to take out his weapon.

A few well-placed shots of his own had ended the confrontation, and given him this new insight into the problem they were now facing.

Flying past the last of the weak and dirty work lights, he stumbled onto the empty platform, thankful that all the sensible people were in bed at three in the morning, and that the homeless man in the corner was well and truly passed out. He didn't need to explain the excessively large gun he was toting.

Surprisingly, Pete was legging it towards him. They stopped at a pillar, both leaning on it to catch their breath, Pete much more worse for the wear. Ok, maybe all that bitching and moaning about how he was too old for all this running about that Rose's dad had turned into a trademark over the years wasn't entirely crap—the man was pushing sixty.

Mickey was the first capable of coherence. "I got inside one," he gasped.

Pete nodded—apparently he'd had a similar experience just now. He licked his lips, trying to force the words out. "They're empty."

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

But how to move within the Void? How to propel oneself through nothing, to nothing, just following a feeling of beckoning, of being called home?

It was stupid, Violet decided after a few moments. The vastness of nothing, the fullness of emptiness… it was all metaphysical gobbledy gook and she found it to be very irritating. She was getting out of here. She was going home.

Just as soon as she figured out how.

Feeling herself sigh, she didn't hear it. Sensory deprivation could drive one to madness.

_I hear you,_ she told that feeling that called to her without words. _I can't figure out how to get to you. Tell me who you are?_ Perhaps it was familiarity she sought, some sort of anchor, some image to hold in her mind's eye. The mind may well be the only thing that existed in the Void.

She had the sense of cinnamon and new carpeting pervading her mind, but not her nostrils. This was getting weird—and she'd been through a lot of psychic mumbo jumbo in the last few years, and she hoped that she never had to do this again. More things began coming through. The sense of fresh towels, a warm bed, tea made from actual tea leaves, grease and electrical fires…

It was right then that Violet realized she was being very, very stupid. She could have gotten out of here any time that she wanted.

The Time Lords possessed control of time and space, and the ability to tend and snip like gardeners when the perceived need arose. Their mere existence, multi-dimensional beings that they were, had been the mesh between parallel worlds and realities. Without them, it was gone. Time and space lacked a gardener, and the connection between times, places and realities was severed. She and the Doctor had been only riding the waves caused by the Time Wars, there was no sort of Time Lord control over the universe remaining.

Except for this one tiny thing—she, herself, happened to be the single bare thread between these worlds.

The moment she realized that, she understood what she felt in the Void, the creatures, the Daleks, the Cybermen… they were all suspended in the Jelly of her mind. Lime flavoured. She was the tendril between worlds; that thin layer of marshmallows in a gross jelly casserole. Bad analogy, but it was how she saw it.

And the second she saw it…she fell.

XYZ

When Rose woke, she was surprised to actually be feeling better. And not dead from blood loss or something equally pathetic to expire from, given how many scrapes she'd been through in her life. "Scrape" was practically her middle name. After Marion.

Opening her eyes, the only thing she could see (or at least focus on) was the shock of brownish hair billowing out from beneath a hastily tied powder pink bandanna, which oddly matched the pink suede jacket that her benefactor was wearing.

Her mouth ran dry, but her eyes seemed to have no lacking of moisture suddenly. Sitting up, she reached out to grab her daughter, but then she saw the gash on the girl's forearm, that she was trying to heal with the telescope-looking device that Rose hadn't been able to figure out. Instead of reaching out to turn the girl around and embrace her, Rose slapped the girl on the side of the head. "I thought we told you to stay put! What did you do to yourself?"

Great. Not only did Rose obviously have brain damage, but she'd inherited her mother's slapping gene.

Turning around, Violet blinked repeatedly in surprise, "Somebody's feeling better." Blinking a few more times, a lopsided, slightly manic grin spread across the girl's lips and she grabbed her mother, squeezing around the middle for dear life. "I…I didn't think I'd ever…" a shuddering breath was the only thing that came out after that.

Kissing the top of her daughter's head, Rose wrapped both arms around her child. God…she was so big now. Tiny, hardly adult…but certainly not the slight seven year old the Bad Wolf had sent away. Her voice was fuller, richer than the shoddy phone connection between universes would allow, and much more mature than the little creature she'd sent away. She hadn't changed that much, though. Still the same pale, freckled chipmunk cheeks and enormous brown eyes.

Pressing the girl's head to her chest in one more indulgent embrace, she breathed in deeply—it still smelled like Violet too—sticky gummy sweets, shampoo and peanut butter.

Violet was the first to pull away, tears shining in her eyes. Rose brushed her own away. "Too bad this isn't a social call," she told her daughter. "I suppose we'd better get on with saving the Doctor. Just as soon as we figure out how." And she figured out how to keep Violet safe. They had what they wanted. Did they know that?

The girl nodded. "Just let me fix these. Probably don't need anything like this slowing us down. What's going on here?" Pulling the sleeve of the jacket up again, she began working on the oozing sliced skin.

Rose shrugged, carefully inspecting the hole in the arm of her blouse, where the bullet had torn through. Seeing all the dried blood, and that Violet was still engaged, she decided a change of clothes wouldn't be untoward. "Torchwood's going on here," she said, making her way to the door. The blood smears were still on the walls and floor. "But I need to find something that doesn't make it look like I'm going as a zombie for Halloween. Be done with that when I get back."

No more time for tearful reunions—they were who they were, their place in the order of things had been set the moment the Doctor took her hand in that basement and told Rose to run. And they had work to do.

XYZ

Once her mother was gone, Violet continued on with her arm. Thank heavens she'd started on her stomach first—she didn't need her mother seeing those wounds. It was an added layer of worry that her mum didn't need right now—especially when it was done and over-with.

The wounds weren't erased, but they were completely closed when she decided she'd had enough of standing at an awkward angle, trying to use a machine that really did require a second person to operate. Finally she gave up, pulling her sleeve back down, then went to work scrubbing the blood off of the floor.

Senses burning, she had landed in the control room…hard, she might add. There'd probably be grating imprinted on her bottom for a week, and her tail bone had to be broken with how much it hurt to sit down right now. In thanks for the TARDIS helping her find her way, she kissed the control column, which was glowing green and indicating only 'vital services' were operating, she scrambled for the door, then stopped when she saw the smear of blood. Looking down at the grating, she could see drops of red clinging to bits and more marks on the walls.

It hadn't been difficult to follow the trail to the medical room. Both hearts nearly stopped when she saw her mother against the wall, blood everywhere. She still felt her mum, though, so she knew she was alive. Tearing open the gash in the blouse, she found the wound in her mother's upper arm. The bullet was a lucky shot, coming in at an odd angle from below then diagonal, it had somehow managed to miss both bone and tendon. Not that having your muscles shredded was much more fun, but it could have been worse than the emergency equipment on the ship could handle.

Violet was also relieved (yet worried, in some whole new way) to discover that not all of the blood was her mother's. The dried brain matter on the back of her collar was evidence to that.

Looking over the room to be sure she'd cleared everything away, it was a lot of work to swallow down all of the things she wanted to say to her mum, all the things she wanted to do, now that she was home. There wouldn't be any of that if they didn't solve whatever was happening here and get the Doctor and gran out of trouble.

She'd go shopping with her gran, or just watch soaps with her, like they used to when she was little. She didn't know what she'd do with her mum or Mickey—go to the zoo? A picnic… They could tinker with her grandfather's car, like they used to on Sunday mornings…

And the Doctor would be there.

First they just needed to do this one thing.

She was broken out of her reverie by her mother's voice behind her. "Ready to go? Well, we'll need some things first."

Turning around, she blinked a few times, looking her mother up and down. "I think those're my shoes." But she grinned. Her mother, in jeans a long-sleeve t-shirt, baring the logo of a comic book character that wouldn't be invented for another hundred years—hair pulled back, face washed of makeup and blood…this was a person she couldn't remember meeting as a child—a peer, even.

Every memory she had of her mum always involved sensible suits and black jackets. She forgot just how…alive her mum could look, when she wasn't confined in a suit. It fit the Doctor, somehow. Of course, it was always rumpled and tugged every which way, but all those clean, crisp lines and white collars looked so unnatural—like she was wearing a costume.

Rose looked down at the trainers. "Easier to run for my life in. Those heels will be the death of me some day." Grabbing Violet's upper arm, she ran her hand along the pink corduroy jacket before taking the hand at the end of the sleeve. "You look…adorable."

With that, Violet took the lead, dragging her mother towards storage. "Totally not what I'd have picked out. I live with myself knowing that the other Torchwood paid for it." Forcing the door open (obviously door rotors weren't a necessary system), she pulled her mother inside, turning the light on and gesturing to the array of weapony-type things. Sadly, exploding egg beaters weren't going to strike fear into the heart of most enemies.

Well, unless they were an evil chef. "Now, what do we need? What's happened, and why do they have gran?" Business. Better just get down to it. She could and would talk to her mum forever, if given the opportunity.

Arms folded over her chest in thought, Rose inspected the weaponry. "Explosives couldn't hurt. They're always useful for something. About a week ago, Mickey and I were sent to dispatch a Dalek."

Spinning around and forgetting the egg beaters, Violet pointed a finger at her mother. "Ha HAH! I knew Daleks were involved!" She couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction.

Rose rolled her eyes, digging through charges that might be small enough to hide on her person. "Mummy's talking, sweetie. I haven't even gotten to the good part." Finding a few charges and detonators that were pocket-sized, she slid them in. "Turns out Torchwood is up to old tricks—trying to pull the TARDIS through the Void. Only they've been sucking other things through in the process and opening up cracks all over that the Doctor was trying to close up so that nothing spilled out on that side, but they found a way to pull him through. They look at you as an investment they're not seeing a return on. But there's something else—some other layer of fun and madness--that I haven't quite figured out yet."

The girl let out a low whistle between her teeth. "Lotta work, kidnapping people and such, all for me. I feel honoured. But they must still think I'm seven." She remembered how they treated her then. Some hated her for being in the building. Some couldn't wait to run just one more scan or test, and the higher-ups, now that she thought of it. Always seemed way too thrilled to have her around. They let her hang out in the building so that she'd be comfortable there, she supposed—so she'd be a softer touch when she was older. Evil. Ingenious… but evil none-the-less.

Rose slapped Violet's hand away when she went for the exploding egg beaters again. "No one's going to be impressed with those. This is serious. The Doctor wasn't in good shape—I don't even want to think of what's become of gran."

Violet reached for them again anyway, stretching out a hand past her mother, pulling the silly metal things off the wall. "All the more reason to bring them along." Filling the jacket pocket with other odds and ends, Violet found a small lock pick and shoved it into the seam of the jacket. Mostly unnoticeable, she hoped.

Now she was so glad she'd come out in the TARDIS—first, if she hadn't, she'd probably have just been captured the moment she was vomited out from the Void. Her mum would also have been in a world of hurt, and she'd have been entirely unprepared for what she was walking into—probably just as the Doctor had been.

As they loaded up, she got a few more details about the Doctor's condition. It was decided (basically, her mum pulled rank) that she would go for the Doctor and Violet would go for gran—that was—assuming they could get out of the room the TARDIS was being held in alive.

She thought briefly of trying to move the ship, but didn't know if it had enough power. It looked like the Doctor was able to shut down enough systems that the place didn't fry, but it was still fresh out of Vortex energy, and anything more than lights, life support and medical might be a bit much to ask of the old girl right now. She had thoughts on how to solve this problem to get everyone back where they belonged, but if it did work, it would certainly be a one trick pony.

Dammit—now she remembered Jack Harkness—Time Agent, conman…ruined her trip to the Trolley Park and her chance to ride the carousel. She'd never gotten a name out of the Doctor, but it all fell into place. He was so getting a kick in the shin the next time she saw him.

And really, what were the odds of that actually happening? Well, ok, so his femur was probably safe.

Rose threw a red Phish jacket on over her shirt. It worked amiably to conceal just how much she had on her person. "Never thought I'd see this thing again. There it was, hanging in the wardrobe."

Smoothing out her own jacket, Violet looked herself over. Sonic staple remover handy, everything as well-hidden as she could manage… "I thought it was nice, but the Doctor never let me wear it." Figured—some kind of weird mum-centered sentimentality. They were just so gross with how cute they were on the phone together, she wasn't sure she could stand seeing them together in real life. She wanted desperately to see them spend time together in real life.

Why was everything so complicated? Why was she here, and Greg there? She should have brought him. He'd have been good for this—probably hide a dozen hand grenades in his baggy jeans.

Trying to conceal a sigh as they wound through the corridors of the ship, up to the console room, Violet told herself again, for the thousandth time that she had no business dragging him here. He had a family and a life there. What if she'd have been trapped in the Void? What if the TARDIS hadn't called to her, helping her figure a way out? Then he'd have been trapped in there with her, and she couldn't imagine doing that to his parents.

Walking around the control column, she simply verified what she already knew—no external monitors. No wonder the Doctor had just wandered out there; he had no idea what he was facing, and really had no way of gathering that intelligence. Of course, traditionally, this is where being the young, cute and slightly sacrificial one helped. She'd go, do some snooping, and if she was captured by hostiles the moment she was out of the ship, then she had very high odds of being treated very well by virtue of her being a child. Man…she missed that game. 'I'm a cute innocent kid' lost its effectiveness as she got older. Now they were suspicious of the teenager, and everywhere she went, they were expecting her to start a fight or shoplift.

She stood on one side of the double doors, her mother on the other. They both listened, trying to get some idea of what was outside. Violet smiled at her mum. "We need to find better mother-daughter activities."

Something flashed behind her mother's eyes, a flush seemed to come rushing up, but with a breath, it was gone. "I'll keep that in mind. You should see my father-daughter bonding rituals with Pete. Usually the amount of property damage is in the millions."

This wasn't what families were supposed to be like, but it was what her family was like. It was always something. 

A picnic. Just one picnic with her entire family. She'd sit between the Doctor and her gran, and made sure no one killed anyone else. They'd eat ham salad and sit back and watch the clouds roll by…

If wishful thinking could make hearts explode, Violet had felt it, just then. The little bubble of her fantasies popped and she came floating back down to reality. She just couldn't figure out what her grandmother was doing with that hat, or why Greg was there. Her brain had to just let go.

Wrapping her hand around the latch for the door, she took a deep breath. "On three?"

Rose also let out a huge rush of air, nodding. "One, two…"

In unison, both yanked on the doors before anyone could say three and stepped out of the safe confines of the TARDIS, and into the big bad world, ready to take it on.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

Standard disclaimers apply. Thanks again to Rosesbud for the beta help.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter Four

XYZ

Violet had made her peace years ago with what she called the 'stupid psychic stuff' that went in to being a Time Lord. It was the first bit that you had to learn before you could even think of meddling with time or space. Sometimes, though… when circumstances were just right, you didn't need to do any meddling with time and space. A bit of tear gas with slight psychologically suggestive properties and a flashing mental image of suffocation worked just fine.

As soon as they stepped out, seeing the ship surrounded by men with guns, wearing dark armor and ski masks, they'd both tossed the canisters, knowing it was their best bet.

Now, these people weren't stupid…nor were they untrained. Even her mother had been trained in dealing with gasses, which is why the next part was slightly wrong, but simplistic and entirely effective.

It fell into the slightly wrong category because of this whole bla bla bla thing about Time Lords not tampering with people's minds and how wrong and violatory it was. However, a bit of psychic suggestion aided by the gas was really just a step or two removed from psychic paper. And really, if it came to a bit of brain tampering, versus having to kill everyone in order to get out of the room—well, she'd take her chances that a bunch of theoretical Time Lords might be annoyed with her and not grant her theoretical certifications.

The scene was rather amusing. Canisters hit, smoke flies up, fourteen men with guns don't even flinch. Give it a few seconds to cling to the exposed parts of their skin…the mental suggestives were highly absorbable, like airborne LSD… then tell them all that they were suffocating. It was certainly a vivid memory and didn't take all that much for her to rustle up, and even the human mind is a powerful thing…

Without her or her mother ever laying a hand on a single one of them, without confrontation and without preamble… all fourteen of them (she'd just noticed that one or two of the hulking figures in armor and masks were actually women) deprived their own brains of oxygen and passed out.

As the smoke cleared, Rose pulled a bit of cloth away from her mouth, eyes obviously irritated and skin a touch red. "You know, kid, I'm glad you're on our side."

Biting her lips, so as not to grin with pride (bad Time Lord, very bad—violating minds like that and then taking pleasure in it—no banana), Violet practically skipped over to the bodies, on her way to the door. "Ahh." The girl raised a finger. "But whose side are YOU on?"

Getting out the sonic staple remover, Violet prepared to make a very loud exit. Unfortunately, there was nothing to pick or open from the inside, and this was the only way.

Knowing better, Rose stood off to the side, shielding her face. "Whichever side you're on."

Teeth clamped firmly and painfully down on her lips again, Violet blew the first hinge. "Well, glad we cleared THAT up." The second and third exploded a moment later, and they pulled the door in the other direction, using the enormous and complex steel lock as a hinge. "All right. You know this place slightly better than I do—which way?"

As footsteps approached, Rose pointed to the centre door. "I'll have to find where they're keeping the Doctor."

Despite the approaching people, four, she'd say, Violet closed her eyes. "I—I always know he's there. Well, out there somewhere. Usually I can tell if he's in the general vicinity, but not where. But I don't feel him. I don't know what's happened. But I haven't been able to feel him since I got here."

Nodding, Rose opened an empty cell door, reminding her that a thing like that could mean anything—maybe psychic connections weren't quite the same here, the way Vortex energy wasn't the same.

Not belabouring the point, due to their lack of time to debate and discuss the nature of psychic connections and their relation to the energy in the Vortex (but ooh, what an interesting topic for her to research, when her straits weren't quite so dire), Violet nodded once, and slid into the cell—which creepily smelled like pine cleaner. Narrow, barely bigger or deeper than a cemetery plot, she vowed that she didn't want to be on the inside of one unwillingly—willingly was difficult enough. Sliding into the corner behind the door, keeping just out of sight of the reinforced glass window, she froze, listening to the discovery of the blown door and the unconscious bodies in front of the TARDIS.

She had no idea why her mother hadn't followed her inside, or what her mum had even been up to—but she didn't hear anything that would indicate that her mother had been caught. Just what was her mum doing?

Pressed hard in the corner, she kept one side of her body smashed against chipping painted cement (and knowing Torchwood, it was probably lead-lined) that she supposed had to have been white in some former life, the other against the dirt-brown door. Hearing their footsteps leaving the vicinity (though they'd probably return with help, if it hadn't been radioed for already) was not as relieving to her as sensing their retreat—probably made easier by residual from the gas. They left for some other part of the building, and she ducked out, making a quick dash for the cell at the end of the dead-end hall.

Getting out the larger of the few lock picks that she'd secreted on her person, Violet began working on the lock, attempting to disable the electrical components while moving the physical parts to the unlocked position, which was difficult, but she had about eight and a half years worth of practice so it wasn't challenging so much as tedious. She could blow it, but that would draw even more unwanted attention, when she was so very close to freeing her grandmother.

Doubt was not permissible—she had to do this. Then she'd get her gran safe and settled in the TARDIS, and she'd know that at least one member of her family was taken care of for the time being and she could work on other matters—such as ensuring the Doctor didn't lose any more regenerations, or worse yet, lose all of them, then making sure whatever other trouble was going on in this London was put down, perhaps destroying this Torchwood in the process…

Ahh, another daydream of something that was merely a possibility. She needed to stop getting ahead of herself and stay focused on the here and now-ish.

If wishes were fishes, the ocean would be hers. She needed to stop thinking about all of these other extraneous things, and focus on the lock. Then she could work on getting her grandmother to safety, then go on from there.

The door finally clicked, and she pulled it open, not sure if she'd triggered an alarm. A chill hit her so hard she had to close her eyes against it as cold air rushed out of the room. Opening them again, she saw her grandmother, sitting on the floor, huddled for warmth. "All ashore that's coming ashore," the girl grinned, grabbing her gran's hand.

Pulling her grandmother to a standing position, she saw the woman's feet wrapped in a jacket—her mother's she supposed. Violet kicked off the loafers that had come her way courtesy of the other Torchwood (the slightly less evil one, as she was beginning to think of them—they had helped her do something incredibly stupid, all to save her mum and the Doctor). "Hope they fit-ish." Close would be good enough for now. She couldn't imagine how cold her grandmother must be.

That wasn't entirely true. Her grandmother must have been freezing—possibly on the verge of hypothermia, because, for once in her life, Jackie Tyler had absolutely nothing to say. She simply used Violet's shoulder for support and slid her feet into the shoes, staring at the girl as if she'd seen a ghost.

Picking the jacket up, she held it out for her grandmother to put on, in the hopes of warming her gran just a bit, who was in just a nightshift and thin silk dressing gown. "You'll be warmer when we're out of here." Violet gently took her grandmother's hand and lead her out of the cell. Yup—trip back to the medical room was in order. Her gran still hadn't said a single solitary word.

They got not even four steps into the dark hall when someone appeared at the other end. The silhouette looked awfully familiar. Violet positioned herself in front of Jackie. "If you have some kind of gripe with me, or my mum, or the Doctor, then that's fine. But my grandmother isn't part of it. You can let her go. Or I can make you." One hand slid into the back pocket of the foreign cargo pants slowly, hand wrapping around something cool and metallic.

The broad shouldered figure put a hand on the wall, leaning against it casually. "We wouldn't want that."

Violet let go of her grandmother's hand, taking a few steps forward. "Captain Jack? What're you doing here? I told you—paradox. Temporal badness--"

Jack shrugged. "Listen, I redirected the team that was responding to the alarm, so it's not like we have a ton of time. Way to go on missing the camera in the hall, by the way." He pointed at the black box against the black background just above her head, and then gestured for them to follow.

Looking away, Violet blushed, feeling just as she had in that alley, when Jack had asked if she'd actually bothered looking _under_ any of the refuse in the dumpsters.

Still…feeling uneasy for some reason, but unable to place it, Violet followed, keeping herself between Jack and her grandmother. "Seriously, though. We have to get out of here, and you need to get back, as soon as possible," she whispered, nearly running into him when he stopped to look around a large steel door.

Her grandmother stopped behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Violet's hand instantly covered her grandmother's, trying to pass on some warmth. "Greg isn't here, is he?" That'd be just great. One more thing for her to worry about in this mess. She couldn't sense the Doctor, her mother had run off without her, and then she'd have to worry about getting her best friend in the entire universe killed or stuck in an alternate reality, far from his relations. He complained about them, but she knew they were close. She'd been through it—she wouldn't do it to him, or his family.

Before Jack could respond (or perhaps in lieu of responding), he moved from behind the door and gestured for her to follow. They were inside some kind of maintenance area. The walls were covered with all kinds of meters and pipes, gas, electricity… winding and slinking around and above, leading down a small pathway and to a door, warm incandescent light spilling around the blinds and through the window.

For the first time, Jackie squeezed her granddaughter's hand. "Where're we going?" she whispered, seeming to come back a bit from wherever she'd been off to mentally.

Violet shrugged, not entirely sure herself. She trusted Jack (he'd not dissected her, after all, in addition to the immeasurable amount of help with her 'cosmic cappuccino maker' and the Doctor had travelled with him—so he must have been an alright sort) but she also trusted the feeling she was having now, that something was wrong. Wronger than usual. Ok, this whole thing was wronger than usual, but this was a special kind of wrong. A new level of wrong—yeah, that was it.

She could see something moving behind the blinds as they approached—a weird, but almost familiar shape. Sloping and angled, some thin arm moving like…an eye stalk. When Jack had a hand on the door, she turned to her grandmother. "Run," she whispered, grabbing Jackie's hand and taking off and away from Jack.

He didn't pursue, which should have told her something right there. "You really don't want to do that," was all he warned in a calm, even voice.

Stocking feet slapping against the cement floor, she stopped short, seeing exactly what he meant. Her stupid pink argyle socks were devoid of traction, and she slid to a halt, bare inches from a silver and black Dalek dome.

Both of her grandmother's hands closed around hers, a gasp escaping them in unison. Spinning around, she saw Jack slowly approaching, another Dalek in his wake. "I told you that you really didn't want to do that."

In some vain attempt to protect her grandmother, Violet pushed her toward a set of pipes along the wall, standing in front, one arm on either side. One shot and they were both dead. One shot and traveling through the Void had been for nothing. "I'm sorry, gran," she whispered.

XYZ

The door to the cell swung open. Which was odd. It was odd mostly because the Doctor hadn't heard the usual clittering clack and metallic grinding that usually precipitated the thing being unlocked. He squinted at the shadow, trying to think up something witty or ridiculous to say. Seemed appropriate—but his brain wasn't having it.

Unable to be clever, he let his head fall back against the cinderblock wall. "Just get it over with," he managed to grumble. He hated waiting around for inevitable things. Besides, a status quo change at least created the possibility of escape.

Soft-soled shoes tapped ever so lightly across the floor toward him, their wearer crouching at his side. "This is a jail break, cowboy. You coming, or staying?" Not giving him a chance to answer, Rose found a setting on his retrieved sonic screwdriver to short the inhibitor.

He wasn't quite sure what to say. "Uh…thanks?" Seemed appropriate—maybe not clever, but it was sincerely felt.

It took a minute or two that she knew they didn't have—but it came free. Surprisingly when she went to work on the manacles, she didn't hear any footsteps or alarms. Their attention must be directed elsewhere, and she had a few good guesses as to what had diverted them. "It's too quiet—which probably means we need to go bail Violet and my mum out of trouble. You owe me a large amount of money, by the way. I knew she'd get herself involved."

Reaching out a hand to him, she hauled him to his feet. Right now she was the least abused of the two, which was an odd feeling. Well, a lot of things were odd—it was odd seeing him again after so long. She'd been thinking so since they'd first locked eyes in the room with the TARDIS. Invariably, Rose had crow's feet and sagging bits, but he looked the same as the day they'd been parted. Facial bruising and bloody jacket aside.

On his feet, the Doctor tugged his jacket back into place with a bit more dignity than was befitting someone in his ragtag state. "I put her there so she wouldn't do this. The Rift is going to go nuts in six months' time, there should have been enough activity there to keep her from ever finding the Void."

Rose went first, sticking her head back out into the passageway. "Yeah. But I just so happen to know someone else who eats 'impossible' for breakfast." A tiny sarcastic smile broke out across her lips. It was a jab—some would say a low blow—that she just couldn't resist going for. "Mother's curse, you know."

The Doctor's voice shuddered in fright or possibly disgust. "Eeugh." Following her out, he took the offered sonic screwdriver out of her hand, slipping it discretely into a jacket pocket. "I know I'm brilliant and all, but I wish she'd use her powers for good, instead of evil."

Stopping at the door leading to the section of cells where her mother was being held, Rose couldn't help but smile. You tell kids to do things for their own good, because you know what'll happen. But kids never look that far ahead—they have to see it, experience it for themselves. It was that pesky free will thing that the Doctor seemed to prize so much in others, but when it was Violet, acted as though he'd be quite content to be able to flip a switch and shut it off.

The cell door was open, safe to assume it was empty. She continued on, feeling a little off-balance to be taking the lead. Somewhere along the way, Rose had grown up. She wasn't a passenger on a site-seeing trip any longer; she was perfectly capable of driving the bus. "Maybe they're back at the TARDIS already." Good old wishful thinking—hoping something could really be that easy.

And yes, it was wishful thinking. That much was evident when the air hummed around them, then the lights flickered and went out.

Rose came to a stop in the middle of a hallway that was little more than a glorified access tunnel, and the Doctor slammed into her back in that brief second before the light fixtures, power outlets and security cameras exploded.

White hot sparks spilled out of anything requiring electricity, falling like globs of water from a sprinkler in the middle of July—and it was about as hot as that too. Without thinking, the Doctor shoved Rose to the ground, using his body to shield her from the pyrotechnics.

The burning heat pressed against his back, sparks threatening to catch what was left of his coat on fire. It didn't last long, however. Within a few seconds, the lights and noise dissipated, leaving Rose breathing hard, still a touch startled from the whole event, and the Doctor with his arms surrounding her, head buried in her hair.

The moment didn't last long—lingering was a luxury for another time. In the hot, oppressive darkness, they both clambered back to their feet, eyes instinctively locking on the other, even before the tiny blue light on the sonic screwdriver was lit. "We need to find her," they both breathed, and then took off running towards the distant screeching of someone—or something—being driven from its mind with agonizing pain.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

Standard disclaimers. Thanks to the ever vunderbar Rosesbud for the beta help. She never picks on me for my isms.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 5

XYZ 

Ok, so not the Captain Jack she knew from the other universe. She should have seen it—how embarrassing. The building apparently had several sub-basements; they were now in the uppermost. Through a small window at ground level, glowing blue twilight leaked through, competing (poorly) with the harsh fluorescent lights. It would be morning soon. Too bad it wasn't possible to wake up from this.

It was a nice office, at least. Spacious, ceiling could have been higher. It was sparse, but it seemed to fit the décor… bluish grey carpet, leather sofa inside the door, well away from the wall but about twenty feet from the desk. On the other side, balancing the room out was a glass case, some green and aged iron pot with carvings inside.

Thrust into an oversized office chair, entirely unsecured save for the device around her neck discouraging her from doing so much as scratching her nose, Violet glared up at Jack Harkness. Her grandmother was sitting, gun pointed at her, in the leather swivel chair behind a large glass desk. "Just so you know, the Doctor's going to save me," the girl grumbled defiantly.

The psychic inhibitor shot sensory feedback through her, tearing at every nerve ending. Evil Jack (it was either that, or call him Ringo), seemed to derive great pleasure from seeing her attempts to not cry out in pain. "Obviously you don't care about your own health and well-being, otherwise you'd stop struggling against it. As for the Doctor… I'm planning on it. You've been a difficult little prize to catch. However… we want it all. You, him… the Daleks."

Violet looked at her personal guard—two Daleks with their death rays trained right at her heart, flanking the office chair. "Ok. You're demented. You want the Daleks. You've obviously lost it, if you think you can defeat them, much less capture them. If you let me go, I'll forget about this whole… unfortunate business."

Evil Jack laughed. There were really no distinguishing features between this Jack, and the one from the other universe—same retro dress sense with the button-down shirts and suspenders, cleft chin and sparkling eyes. Even the charming care-free laugh was the same. It was the hardness that remained after the laughing stopped that distinguished them. Her Jack (when had she started to think of him as such?) had a sort of world-weariness about him, a man who'd seen and done too much, and who'd distanced himself from others because of it.

Ringo, here… there was that same look of having fought too many battles, but it had made him cruel. Taking pleasure in the pain of others was probably about all he had left in the world and a man like that was a dangerous thing—a loose cannon. "There's so much more going on here than you see. You really are adorable. I don't know what they want with you—I'd have just killed you myself if it weren't for that. But then we wouldn't be having this much fun."

Oh great. Jack, the man on top, wasn't the man on top. There was actually someone or something above that.

Jackie's gaze moved from the barrel of the gun to the man behind it, eyes narrowing in seething, steaming anger. Violet couldn't believe her gran had held her peace this long, thinking back to the time the woman had been banned from school property after 'expressing' herself to one of Violet's teachers. "If you hurt her--"

A ripple of pleasure seemed to roll through him as he leaned in towards the woman, an intimidating grin spreading across his face. "You'll what?"

From the other side of the desk, Violet let out an interrupting cough. Why couldn't her gran just let her handle this? "There's something I've been meaning to ask." It had been bothering her since just before she'd gotten up close and personal with this device around her neck, making it impossible for her to sense so much as the time of day or think of anything more complicated than how to make a peanut butter sandwich. "Why are they empty?" She looked at the universe's deadliest pepper pots on either side of her. Even Daleks felt like something—they were living creatures after all. These things felt… hollow.

Sitting on the edge of the desk, Ringo turned slightly, focusing back on Violet. "Because they are."

Oh that was just awful. She'd allowed herself to be captured by the hollowed out husk of a Dalek.

Her face must have betrayed this sentiment, because the man with the gun tsked. "It's not as bad as all that. They would have shot you, and it would have killed you. They're functional, technically. They just operate on my orders, instead of their own volition."

Demented. The man was utterly demented.

Still…even with her abilities being crushed by this device like grapes in a vat, she could see certain things spread out in front of her, like possibilities, suddenly. Like butter on toast, actually. With apricots and a side of 'we're so completely doomed.' Certain pieces were falling into place. Others weren't quite there, yet. The Doctor might have been a trap for her… but now she was a trap for the Doctor. And something else…

The door behind her opened. Whoever entered did so silently. "Your escort's here. They'll show you to the real movers and shakers in this game. And I wouldn't try anything with your new hosts—they're not neutered like these pets."

Oh hell—we now had real Daleks and fake Daleks, and a man crazy enough to attempt some kind of subterfuge with the real deal. There didn't seem to be any way that this could go, other than ending badly. Trying to turn her head to see how many approached, pain shot through her. They really had dialed this thing up to the max.

Jack gestured with the gun, and she'd gotten to her feet before she'd even realized it. "Go on. Be a good sacrificial lamb, and your grandmother, here, will keep on enjoying continued good health."

At least for now. She was certain that if she and the Doctor were both pawns and prizes in this game, her grandmother and mother would be nothing more than casualties—second thoughts that were no longer needed once compliance was forced out of them both.

Stepping around the chair, she didn't break eye contact with him. "Ok. I get it. I know what's going on. You didn't think it would get this out of hand, did you? Or you thought your neutered Daleks could handle it."

She also knew that if she went with these empty machines, to the roof she was guessing, she was as good as dead. Then her grandmother would be unnecessary…and then she'd be bait for the Doctor…

A tight smile spread across Ringo's lips, a smile that didn't reach his cool blue eyes. "I'm cleaning up the Doctor's mess. Anything else that happened in the course of that is on his head as well."

Oh god. The second he said that—she figured the rest of it out. Plan… she needed…

Pain shot through her, the device trying to overload her mind…which gave her an idea…

XYZ

First Mickey slapped himself on the jaw. Yeah, that hurt. He went for the real test though, he slapped Pete. When Pete's elbow slammed into his chest, he figured that yeah, he was awake. He'd lived to see the day. "This is really happening? Ya?"

Staring at the scene before them, unable to tear his eyes away, Pete nodded.

There was a chill in the air and twilight lit the sky above them. Backlit—accentuated the single bizarrest scene either had ever encountered. Crazier than yeti playing poker, crazier than Cybermen and Daleks fighting…

It had been a just plain weird night. They'd chased down two more hollow Daleks…or at least Daleks that they'd assumed to be hollow, but the things had evaded them. Sure, they'd shot at Mickey and Pete, tried to kill them a few times, but for the most part, the Daleks were running away, and they were only giving a half-hearted attempt at trying to exterminate.

Then the other Daleks had blipped off the radar, as it were, in the tunnels. By the time they made it to the surface, this was the scene before them.

Daleks. Daleks killing other Daleks. Dalek-on-Dalek violence, against the glowing cobalt blue movie screen of the pre-dawn sky.

It wasn't as easy as it looked, either. They'd always been a unified race, never needing to have the upper hand with each other. Finally Pete pulled out his phone. He didn't care what the hell else was happening—they needed backup now, because eventually the forty (had been around fifty, ten minutes ago) Daleks maneuvering deftly like fireflies would run out of other Daleks to kill. One group would eventually be victorious. And when they ran out of Daleks to kill…

Well, it'd be dawn soon…and the morning commuters would be scurrying out of their homes and towards work or school…easy pickings for even a handful of Daleks.

The phone rang and rang, no one picking up on the other end. Pete hit the 'end' button, the hand holding the phone dropping to his side. He stared at the flaming wreckage twenty yards in front of them that had, only minutes ago, been the most fearsome creature in the universe.

Mickey shook his head. "What the hell is happening?"

XYZ

They made it to the floor the awful screech had come from, but it had stopped by the time Rose opened the fire door. Looking down both sides of the carpeted hall, the Doctor pointed to a large wooden door. It looked like a regular office building, not the legitimate business covering for an evil organization's evil underground deeds.

Unlocking the door with his sonic screwdriver, he yanked it open, expecting Rose to rush through ahead of him, but she stopped, gasping. Opening the door a little wider, the Doctor looked for what had stopped Rose in her tracks. A sharp sucking breath was all that he could manage.

From what he could count…four of them. Four Daleks, turned into shrapnel just inside the door of the oversized office. The lights were fried, exploded shards glowing red as blood in the outlets, the emergency exit sign the only light in the space.

In the darkness, a hollow voice spoke softly, but it echoed throughout the large room. "She just…said she wasn't going to let them do it. Then…" Jackie's back was to them, crouching near a black leather sofa.

The Doctor was the one who grabbed Rose's hand this time and dragged her through and around and over the rubble of smoking Dalek. Raising the sonic screwdriver, he tried to erase some of the deep shadows tearing through the space. Jaw set and locked, all the possibilities he didn't want to imagine flashed before him when he saw Violet laying there, crumpled on her side.

Rose pushed past him, like he wasn't even there. "Baby?" In that moment he understood why Jackie had slapped him the first time he brought Rose home. Don't stand between a mother and her child.

"Mum?" the girl whispered, still not moving.

He started breathing again—hadn't even realized he'd stopped. The moment Rose scooped the girl into her arms, he looked at the carnage, flashing his light at the space. "What the hell happened?"

Jackie looked up at him. "She… she just made everything explode. They," she gestured to the rubble in front of the door, "Just blew—by the time everything stopped…he was gone."

"I had to," he heard Violet whisper. "They're coming. You can stop it…" She sat up suddenly and Rose tried to get her to relax. "The Daleks are hollow. They're not all--" a strangled cry escaped her lips, and a hand clutched at her midsection.

The Doctor swore under his breath and slid between Rose and Jackie. "Alright. Back to the TARDIS." Scooping her up, he noticed the burns around her neck and the disabled psychic dampener. "PLEASE tell me you didn't short that thing." But he knew she did. She wouldn't be this pale, dark rings under the eyes, lips chalky and grey, nor would she be clutching her stomach like something was about to burst out, if that weren't the case.

It was a damned good thing she was small for her age, because the puncture wound in his shoulder probably wouldn't be able to take any more. Without bothering to console Rose or get a further explanation from Jackie, he barged back out, kicking hot Dalek shrapnel out of the way, heading back to the stairwell. Daleks… she said they were empty… but there's something else out there, or coming…

Rose was already ahead of him, opening the door. As he passed through, she brushed her daughter's forehead with her hand, the girl's teeth chattering, hand twisting around the Doctor's lapel, like when she was little. "Doctor--" Rose whispered, somewhere between a question and a plea.

Starting down the first two steps, he turned back to look at her. "I don't know," he mouthed, then went back to navigating the steps with his trembling load. "Rose and Jackie—go on ahead of me. I need a clear path." That much he could trust Rose to do. He'd seen how many people she'd knocked unconscious to get to his sonic screwdriver, and then him. Speaking of which… "Take the screwdriver—left pocket."

Getting as close to him as possible, she rubbed her daughter's arm then reached in to his pocket, grabbing the tool. "It'll be alright," Rose promised, just as the girl let out another cry of agony. She grabbed Jackie's arm before the other woman could fuss, dragging her on ahead as fast as they could manage.

As soon as they were a floor down, he continued on. "Vi—just breathe," he whispered, trying to keeping his eyes on the steps in the dim light. "You can't hold your breath. I know it hurts. But you need oxygen right now. As much as you can get. Just listen to me. Look—I'm going to stay with you through this. But you can't hold your breath."

Tired, agonized moans escaped her every time she breathed out, but at least she was breathing. When they made it down two more levels, she opened her eyes, trying to manage something. She licked her lips, raising her head slightly. "The Daleks--" she gasped. "Jack--" and that was as far as she got before another cry of agony ripped through her.

She was fighting it, he could tell. "Keep breathing," he reminded her. "You can tell me in a minute, when we're back in the ship." He knew she'd be even worse off, then. He had Daleks all over the place—and he wasn't sure what the 'hollow' bit was about, he had some alternate reality Jack Harkness on his hands… and now he had this to deal with this. Why would she—

"I had to," she whispered in answer to a question he hadn't voiced, just as he hit the bottom most basement. "Didn't think it'd be so…" her head hit his shoulder—she was unconscious.

It'd be a blessing if she stayed that way. Wouldn't really stave off what would happen afterwards, but at least in the here and now, she wasn't conscious through this part of it.

He almost tripped over a few extra bodies, and he had to smile. Rose never ceased to amaze him. The smile turned to a manic grin when he saw the ring of unconscious forms outside the TARDIS doors. Stepping over men and guns, he turned slightly to get through the door with his load.

Jackie slammed the door behind her. "Rose is in the…medical thing."

The Doctor rushed past with Violet, through the control room and back towards the girl's bedroom, telling Jackie that she didn't need medical.

He put her on the bed, on top of the eclectic collection of blankets and pillows. Pulling the scarf off of her hair, he tossed it onto the desk, unbuttoning the odd pink jacket that looked so unnatural on her, he began pulling explosives and tools out of her pockets.

Explosive eggbeaters. She'd been looking for an excuse to use those for years. Sonic staple remover—only slightly more ridiculous than his own favorite tool—ball of string. She hadn't had a chance to use any of it.

Damnit.

"Why's she in here?" Rose asked from the doorway.

Shaking his head, he didn't bother to turn around to look at her. "She needs something familiar." Violet stirred slowly, her lips trembling. "Don't hold your breath," he reminded her. In full light, she looked even worse. "Don't fight it."

Rose came around the other side of the bed, a look of horror coming with realisation. "No."

His eyes met hers. Not how he envisioned their reunion. "If she can even manage it. She's young, Rose. And her mind's a jumble. She overloaded that thing—the mental abuse is something that'd be hard to bounce back from, much less the energy that went through her." And it had to have been massive—she'd spat it back out again and overloaded the whole building. "Don't fight it," he urged again. "Don't hold your breath."

She was looking past him, to her grandmother. "Don't want to." Of course, she should have thought of that before she tried to overload a psychic inhibitor. She'd better have had a damned good reason.

Jackie's eyes watered, and she looked to the Doctor in a way that indicated that yes, it was entirely his fault.

Because everything in the universe was the Doctor's fault. He leaned toward the older woman. "Jackie…" he had a thousand things he wanted to say and not a single one of them would come out.

The startling and echoing sound of a mobile rang out. A bit shaken, Jackie reached into the pocket of her dressing gown, fumbling with her phone. "Hello?" Rubbing Violet's arm, she nodded to whatever she was being told, then cut the other party off. "Tell the Doctor." The mobile was thrust in his direction. "It's for you."

Making a face, he took the phone from her. It wasn't like he'd had his calls forwarded. But after a moment of listening the Doctor's eyes grew wide, and Rose stood, sensing that whatever it was—it wasn't good. A few seconds later, he absently ended the call, handing the phone back to Jackie, never looking away from Rose. "Daleks. Fighting in London. Fighting each other." His mouth was suddenly very dry.

Jackie pocketed the phone. "Well, get going. I'm here with her."

Stepping away, something stopped him. A hand, wrapped around his trouser leg, holding on for dear life. "You said--" Yes…he'd promised he'd stay with her. He wouldn't leave her to go through this alone.

Was it possible to be made to feel any worse? "Vi…" he sighed, running a hand through his hair, rubbing his bruised jaw. "Is this what you were trying to tell me earlier?"

But he could see it in her eyes—it was starting. "Something…dunno." Whatever it was… she'd thought it was worth potentially dying for.

Sliding onto the bed next to her granddaughter, Jackie disengaged the hand from the Doctor's clothes, closing both of hers around it. "I'm staying right here. They have to go." She said it very gently, but she glared at the Doctor and Rose, gesturing with her head for them to get out of there.

Reluctantly, the Doctor grabbed Rose's arm and dragged her out. He knew her—she was only reticent because she was trying to keep it all together. And he knew she'd succeed—she wouldn't have come this far in life if she buckled under pressure. Still—he knew how difficult this was for her—he felt the same.

Hesitating, he looked back into the girl's room—and it was the room of a child. Collections of mementos from all of their trips, books, toys…

Jackie brushed the hair out of Violet's face, hushing her, telling her she was ok.

Violet's face twisted in pain, and the Doctor looked away. She needed him here. They needed him out there. Petite hands twisted around a hot pink blanket. She was still fighting it, which would only make it worse in the end. "I don't want to--"

Kissing her forehead, Jackie brushed the girl's cheek with the back of her hand. "I know you don't want to, sweetheart. But if you need to, it's all right. I'll be right here. I'll stay with you…if you need to change."

With a sigh of resignation and defeat, he headed for the control room, to join Rose. He needed information; he needed to know what was going on. Then he needed a plan.

Violet needed…well, for the moment, she was beyond need. The sooner he solved this, the sooner he could help her.

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

Standard disclaimers. Thanks again to Rosesbud for awesomness in betaing. There should be an award, really.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 6

XYZ

Jack couldn't believe he was still there—sitting on the floor of a dorm room drinking warm beer, staring at monitors in a language unreadable by three-dimensional beings, with a keyboard in his lap. He'd driven the love-sick puppy out the door about fifteen minutes ago under orders not to return without food. It was an easy bet that the kid hadn't eaten all day—first he'd been frantically looking for his little girlfriend (the young and innocent were a bit refreshing to deal with and a bit nauseating all at the same time), then he'd been playing errand boy during the construction phase of this experiment.

Ok, maybe he could believe it—just a little. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he wanted to see how it turned out, for one. It ultimately didn't matter whether the Doctor lived or died. Jack had mixed feelings about the whole thing. Some days he wanted to kill the Doctor himself—some days he wanted to kiss the alien bastard.

But Rose, on the other hand.…

Oh that damned kid. Violet had told him just enough to keep him here, waiting for some word of Rose Tyler, who was still worth fighting for, and worth dying for. The Doctor… so-so. He was rethinking his position on the whole 'buying the Doctor time' thing. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Just a thought that rolled around in his head like lonely ball bearings from time to time—in the end he'd still do it, given the choice again.

Jack just hadn't, in all of this time, figured out why he'd been so damned unsuccessful at that whole dying thing. Of course, he also had no idea why the Doctor was alive either, but the Daleks had been destroyed. He knew the Doctor was clever… but clever enough to refine a delta wave in the brief amount of time the battle had lasted? He'd signed up to go down fighting on Satellite Five. He hadn't signed up for… this.

Another swill of warm, slightly stale beer, and he found a rough translation for the four dimensional glyphs. And by rough translation, it meant that each symbol had a page of text associated with it. He wasn't entirely sure he could reduplicate the process of punching through to the Void, if he tried.

Patching the translation back into his wrist computer, he dialled the office. "Hey, Tosh…how do you feel about simplifying translations?" Without waiting for an answer, he started sending the information through. "I think you'll like this, it's really cool. Just consider it… our payment for helping the kid get back to her own dimension."

There was silence on the other end. Yup. She liked it too. "Jack, you can't be serious. You just lifted it off the hard drive? And what's this translation?"

He couldn't hold back the self-satisfied smile. "Best I could do. Bit of software I copied off of one of her toys while she was unconscious." First he disabled the staple remover then he'd copied all the data off the tiny internal computers. It was actually quite a bit of stuff that would be useful to Torchwood eventually. "What we have here is a four-dimensional language. Hence the translation for each character containing about a thousand words and six mathematical formulas. I was wondering if you could get me something—rough, polished, I don't care. Who knows what we can do with this stuff once we have it in a manageable format?"

Toshiko sighed. He was giving her yet another impossible task. Deep down, though, she loved it. "I suppose I can write something to sift this."

"Thanks, Tosh, you're the best. No holes in reality, nothing bad leaking out?"

His tech assured him that, so far, nothing had seemed amiss—well, more than usual for living on a rift in time and space. There didn't seem to be any bleed over from other dimensions, nor did there seem to be any escapees from the Void. The one anomaly was that the amount of Rift activity within their own dimension seemed to have been kicked up a notch.

The girl had said something about there being a reason why the Doctor had sent her specifically to this time and place. He must have known that something was happening with the Rift. And for it to make the Doctor notice—that something must be big. Which meant they'd all just better be ready for it—whatever the proverbial 'it' was.

The door opened—no key twisting in the lock first –and Greg stepped in with a box of something that looked greasy and possibly edible. Dammit—no one knew how to lock a door around here. Those two kids were hell on security. He wouldn't be surprised if they had left the TARDIS doors opened, allowing every evil nasty in the universe free access to the most versatile and magnificent—to steal the Doctor's own word—time machine in the universe.

It was a wonder the universe was still standing with these two love birds on the case. "So, what'd you bring back?"

The young man's eyes were a bit hollow, his face paling as much as his dark skin would allow. It was the clamminess that made everything clear. "Uh…chicken. I think." Instead of holding out the box, he held out his mobile phone.

Getting to his feet, Jack took the food from the boy instead. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Greg licked his lips. "Talked to one on the mobile, actually."

He knew the young man had been trying to reach Violet since just after they'd closed the portal to the Void, all attempts unsuccessful. Something must have connected. "She ok?"

A bit helplessly, he handed the phone to Jack, who actually took it this time. "I didn't talk to her."

Jack looked at the name on the display—it certainly was her name in his address book, and that was the last call that the kid had made. "Ok, who'd you talk to then? Her mother? The Doctor? Is she alright?" Kid had probably gone and gotten herself nearly killed again, or worse.

The boy looked at the power indicator on the generator nearest the door. "You, actually. And you're not a very nice person there. Promised to behead her—for destroying his Daleks."

Without another word, Jack looked at the other generator. "Well, I don't care what she said, I'm not going to let that happen." Destroy his Daleks? Why would anyone have Daleks, much less some other version of himself? The idea was a bit revolting.

Greg looked around at the equipment, a bit helpless. "What about paradoxes?"

Picking through the jumble of cables on the bed, Jack shook his head. "I'll just haveta make sure nobody sees me. But I think I need to go have a little talk with myself." Beginning to hardwire the wrist computer back into the mess, he looked up, humor in his eyes and a wry smile on his lips. "Is it suicide if you kill an alternate version of yourself?"

"As long as you don't go popping out of existence or something." Pulling the chair towards his desk, Greg looked at the unreadable characters "What're we going to do about this?"

Again, Jack just grinned overconfidently. Part of it was just to encourage the young man to calm down, but part of it was just him being himself. "Already working on it. Got someone back at the office trying to turn this into something moderately workable."

Looking around his room at the magnificent mess, the boy sighed. "Then we go through and find Violet."

"And her family, and the Doctor," Jack appended, picking the keyboard back up. Oh yeah, he had it bad. An entire universe could fall to the Daleks, but if she was safe, then he was OK.

Jack dialled the office again and asked if Tosh had anything he could use, but she was having trouble creating anything that could simplify the language enough for a three dimensional being to use. He told her to keep at it, then asked for her to put Gwen on. He probably should have been telling Owen this, but Gwen seemed like the only one who'd understand. "Hey. I'm… going out of town for a bit."

There was a sharp sucking in of breath on the other end. "Jack, you're not doing what I think you're doing, are you?"

He chuckled, still maintaining an air of ease and confidence. "I just have some thing to take care of. Turns out I'm a complete and total bastard in an alternate timeline, instead of just being a partial bastard, I guess. Don't say anything to the others. Well, unless you never hear from me again. I guess you can tell them I was killed by myself, even though that sounds a bit suicidal. I don't know. You'll think of something."

"Jack…" She hesitated. "Is it really your responsibility? Another reality?"

If it had been Gwen, he'd have been asking if it was wise to go meddling with such things. Gwen didn't seem at all concerned with the temporal repercussions of meeting one's self, something about seeing the Doctor before he gets his answer… all kinds of things. Gwen was only worried that he was taking on something that wasn't his burden to carry. "Trust me. I've got a pretty good feeling the Doctor's going to need my help. I mean—if I'm an evil genius and all, I have to be good at it. I am ME after all." He had to wrap it up, or she'd go on forever, trying to talk him out of it. "The kid's in trouble. Just gunna save her from myself, and hop back. Nothing to worry about."

Except for the part where he needed to find a way out of the Void. Ending the call, he turned back to the boy who'd so graciously allowed his room to be turned into a garden shed for weekend scientists (but with far cooler toys). "We'll wing it."

XYZ

Finding street level, they passed through an alley bearing the rotten, acidic smell of bin water, urine and rain, kicking bits of old newspapers and food wrappers out of the way as they found a main artery. "I didn't want to…" the Doctor started, never finishing the thought. The sentiment was there.

The back of Rose's hand brushed his. "I know."

They both looked up in the sky, anxious for some word of what Pete had been talking about on the phone. The Doctor heard movement the way they'd come, so they skidded back through, trying not to inhale through the nose. Coming out onto uneven pavement, Rose nearly tripped as they rounded the corner, a few early morning commuters beginning to appear on the street, most oblivious to what was happening above their heads.

The Doctor pointed. "Ok. I'm out of ideas," he muttered, watching Dalek shrapnel fall from the sky. Violet was right—at least some of them were empty—there were only a few left, compared to Pete's previous intelligence report, so it was easy to tell that there was no life within some of them. "What are they? Zombies? They fight like they have some control—they're interactive and learning…" He began scanning the area around them for any sign of Pete or Mickey. "I wish Violet could have held out a little longer. Whatever's going on here—she's figured it out, and obviously she thought it was worth…" he couldn't bring himself to say it. "What she did." He pointed—seeing some movement around a corner that looked especially rushed.

Three left. There were only three left in the whole sky, so far as they could see. It looked like the 'empties' had given as good as they'd received. It wouldn't be long now…

Instinctively, Rose and the Doctor both stopped, suddenly losing interest in what had gone around the corner. They watched the shield of the last empty Dalek fail. It was executed by the other two, shot from behind and in front. It fell from the sky, crashing through the roof of an older four story building, the weight and velocity bringing the flaming wreckage down through all four floors, to ground level.

There was no way of this strange happening escaping the notice of the populace or local authorities, which would only make more targets for the Daleks. "We're going to have a massacre on our hands," the Doctor muttered. "Even with just the two of them."

In a blip of electric blue energy, they were both gone, pulled upward by some unseen force. "Oh-kay…" The word rang out, protracted by Rose's surprise. "Recalled to the mother ship? Stopped by a benign alien entity…?" She was having trouble of thinking up answers for it. "I'd rather have it be the second one. The first means that there's a mother ship."

Taking out the sonic screwdriver, the Doctor changed a setting and pointed it briefly in the direction the victorious Daleks had disappeared to. "Wasn't transmat, Screwdriver's just not enough to get a reading from the upper atmosphere at this range. Damnit, I wish I knew what was going on."

Pointing to the corner they'd been heading for, Rose grabbed his wrist, dragging him along. It felt strange and unnatural, like writing with her left hand. "We'll figure it out." But she hesitated. "What're the odds of Violet remembering any time soon?"

The Doctor shook his head as they approached Pete, who'd put on a few pounds, but was looking good for his age—fit, at least. Despite the large contact burn on his forehead and being smudged all over with soot. "First one's tricky. She could be up and about in an hour, could be a week. Might remember everything, might be a clean slate." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry this happened. I'm sorry I'm not there--"

Rose pressed a finger to his lips with one hand, waving to her father with the other. "You're where you're needed most. I'm not where I want to be either, though. I always used to tell myself…if I didn't spend time away from her, doing what needed to be done, she wouldn't have a world to grow up to resent me in. Bit of resentment versus annihilation?"

Out of breath, Pete stopped in front of them, grabbing Rose with one arm as he addressed the Doctor. "Yup, now I know it's the end of the world—you're here." He told them that Mickey was already on cleanup and explained that Torchwood was not responding to him, which was a pretty huge indicator that Torchwood was involved and (or) knew about the hollow Daleks. Suddenly, he seemed to notice the state the Doctor was in—torn coat, slash to the arm, puncture wound just below the collarbone, in addition to some lovely but yellowing bruises. " You look like hell, mate."

The Doctor looked at the burn on his forehead. "You're not looking so peachy yourself. I think we've all taken a hit, and I think we're going to take a few more before this is all over. Granted we live. Living would be very nice. I happen to be a fan."

Squinting in the early dawn, they came to a junction and turned, shielding their eyes as the golden glare of dawn reflected off of the glass face of a building. Pete gestured toward his 'special projects' van, which happened to be fully loaded with weapons and communications technology.

The Doctor hoped that they'd find technology capable of telling him where those Daleks had gone to. They hadn't engaged in the usual business of shooting humans now and asking questions later, which meant they had a plan—some sort of larger endgame. He'd really like to figure it out before he was caught in it.

As they climbed into the back of the van, he began searching for something powerful enough to transmit the signal he needed. Absently, his hand found Rose's. She was right. He needed to do this, otherwise there wouldn't be a world for Violet to hate him in later.

XYZ

The girl was alone when she woke. Things seemed different, unnatural. All of her senses were mixed up. Perhaps she was on some sort of medication? Maybe she was ill, and that's why she felt so odd.

If she was ill, why was she lying on top of these blankets? Why was she in this room, and not a proper hospital bed, in that droll, shapeless hospital attire that always closed in the back? The ship—she didn't know how she knew it was a ship—hummed around her, trying to get her to go back to sleep, like a mother hen.

Sitting up, she very nearly collapsed back onto the pile of pillows. It was then that she noticed how short and tight her jacket appeared to be. How tight everything seemed to be. Managing to roll onto her side, she pushed herself to a sitting position, which seemed to work better. Head swimming, things coming in and out of focus, she looked around the room. Doll house, trinkets, batik with a pink background and a yellow and orange sulfur and iron rich world pinned up behind the bed—strange collection of pink and black blankets…a child's room. A girl. Why had she been brought here?

She was on a ship, in a stranger's room, wearing ill-fitting attire, with a muddled head and unsteady feet. That seemed to sum up her current status.

Holding on to the desk as she looked around the space, searching for clues, trying to clear the cobwebs. The more she looked around the room at the monster novels, hot pink clothing—dirty, mind you—in piles on the floor, toys and mementos…the more she disliked whoever would live in such a space. The room belonged to someone she should know. It was there, she could almost see it, almost remember…but the more she tried to grasp the memories the further away they slipped, as if they were teasing her.

"Up and about already? You sure you should be doin' that?" the woman's voice was annoying, whoever she was. Would it kill her to just pronounce all the syllables in her words? "Why don't you climb back into bed. I brought ya some tea. That seemed ta help the Doctor last time."

She turned away from the photograph of a familiar face and looked at the woman. This woman was familiar as well—blonde hair, somehow unnatural looking without makeup, and wearing nightclothes. "The Doctor?" the girl asked absently, the words and the voice sounding foreign in her own mouth, echoing around inside her skull. She had something to tell him—if only she could remember who he was, and what she was to say.

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

Standard disclaimers. Thanks to Rosesbud again (and again, and AGAIN!) for all the beta help. She am awesomes. I have quite a bit written (still making all the recommended changes, tho), but I might be sporadic posting this weekend. We've decided to be spontaneous and go to the Doctor Who convention in Chicago. Oh God… I'm such a nerd. Please help me.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 7

XYZ

Setting the cup on the night stand, the woman patted a space next to her on the bed. "Don't look at me like that. Took care of him, I did. The Doctor was sick after the change—said something'd gone wrong. You look like you're fairing much better. But you're a bright girl. Trust it to you to do it right—he probably couldn't even manage it without mucking it up."

The girl didn't move to approach the bed.

The woman sighed. "What, you don't believe I'd take care of him? My tea saved the world," she said proudly. "And I didn't try ta poison him or nothing. Even if he deserved it. Wreckin' Christmas like he did."

The woman was obviously mad. "I see." It appeared that the woman knew her—it was safe to say that she should know the bleach blonde with the ruddy face and wrinkles. How to say she didn't, exactly?

Holding out a cup to her, the woman urged her to the bed again. "Come on, just drink the tea for your gran."

Gran. Coming around the bed, she sat next to the older lady, not wanting to raise suspicion. The woman was family—or so she'd like her to believe. It could still be some elaborate trap or hoax.

Taking the cup, she sniffed it before dipping her finger in, then tasting it. Not poisoned, so far as she could tell. This woman was a nice old lady, why would she be concerned that someone would try to trap or poison her? "It's too sweet."

The lady smiled. "That's ok. You drink up. I'll get you one with less sugar, but finish this one up for now. It'll do you a world of good."

World, worlds… that seemed like an important word. She looked over the woman's shoulder at the dyed cloth on the wall as she sipped the sticky-sweet substance that surely couldn't be called tea, for as badly as it had been violated. The planet on the batik behind the bed wasn't a planet at all—it was a moon. From this solar system.

The woman put an arm around her shoulder, hand running through her long, straight hair. It felt nice. Perhaps the woman was really her grandmother. She felt very alone, though. She felt like the moon, floating in a pink void—lost and not belonging.

She lowered the cup and began reciting what she did know. "Earth, third planet from the sun. Fifth largest in the solar system, one hundred forty-nine million, six hundred thousand kilometers from the sun, twelve thousand seven hundred and fifty six kilometers around. Thirty-four point six percent of the Earth is made of iron. Atmosphere: seventy-seven percent nitrogen, twenty-one percent oxygen, which humans need to breathe in order to sustain life. Most carbon-based humanoids require it in some form or another, except for the Behtarins, to whom it is poisonous, which is convenient because their atmosphere is made up nearly entirely of atomized sulphur. It's pretty in the winter."

Biting her lower lip, she looked away from the image on the wall. Why did she know these things, but not her own name?

Cool lips pressed against her cheek, dry fingers rubbing against her jaw line. "You're still such a clever girl. Why don't you tell your gran more about it?" With another kiss to the forehead, the woman grabbed the sleeve of the unnatural pink jacket. "And we can get this off of you, find you something more comfortable to wear."

Allowing the woman to help pry it off of her body, she thought of it. All the things she knew… It was 2023, she didn't know why that was important, but it seemed to make a difference—like it was entirely possible for it to be something else, and have that be as natural as breathing. "In the year forty-thousand, six hundred and fifty-five, relative Earth time, Behtarillinti is invaded by pigmy Rotarians. In a scene reminiscent of Orson Wells' War of the Worlds, the landing parties opened the doors of their ships and promptly fell over dead. A good time was had by all. Well, except for the Rotarians. They were dead."

It occurred to her, very distantly, that her sense of humor was appalling. Why did she know these things, about places the people of this planet didn't know, of a time that was so far away?

She put her head on the woman's shoulder, familiarity beginning to seep in along with the exhaustion. It felt like she'd just created the world, or birthed herself. This was strange and a bit more metaphysical than her addled thoughts could handle, so she closed her eyes and let the woman rock her. "The Dalek invasion of 2164 never happened," she muttered, closing her eyes. "That's weird, isn't it? It happened, then it unhappened. Even though it didn't happen yet."

Daleks… there was something with Daleks. She didn't remember what they were, only the name. And she was to run from them, if ever she saw once. Get away by any means possible, that's what the Doctor had told…her? Was it her? Who was the Doctor? How could she know these things, and yet, not know? Addled—muddled—all twisted up, her brain was. All twisted, like pretzels or Swiss cheese. Swiss cheese-filled pretzels… She might be hungry.

The woman—Gran—slid her shoulder from beneath the girl's head, gently bringing her to rest on one of the pillows then pulled the blankets from beneath the girl, covering her. "That's enough for now."

For a few minutes, the woman stroked her hair. It felt good, natural—like that was how things were supposed to be. Something was missing, but this piece of the puzzle was in the right place. "That's my good girl," the woman crooned softly. "You just wait till your mum sees you. She's going to be so surprised."

Why would it be a surprise? Should she ask? Or maybe ask what had happened to her—why she feels this way. "I think I'm hungry," was what came out instead.

Cool lips pressed to her head. "Just keep your eyes closed, and rest. I'll see what that useless lump of a donor has in this place. At least he has tea." Getting up, the woman rubbed her hand along the girl's arm affectionately, and then left.

Turning onto her side, the girl sunk into the pillow. It was comfortable. She could sleep forever in a bed like this. Soft, warm. Slowly, tension fell away, and her addled mind relaxed. It didn't matter that she could remember a thousand facts and figures, but not where she had learned them. It didn't matter that she knew the year of the pact that created the First Great and Bountiful Human Empire—she wanted to know her own name. Names were important, somehow.

Drifting on numbers and symbols, sleep pulled her down. Sleep, and dreams of familiar things. A carousel, tea…lots of tea. So much tea she thought she could float on it. A noisy forest at night. She stayed up talking to someone about places he'd been. Someone familiar—perhaps more familiar than Gran. Familiar like… a feeling in her head. Games, running…there's always running. A scooter, little baby monsters with no limbs. Jelly, marshmallows, peanut butter…men made out of metal and pepper pots with a plan to destroy the universe. They must destroy it. It's the only way to win the Time Wars.

Daleks… Daleks in the sky, on land… destroying it all. A boy is involved. He wears a green and blue rugby shirt, but she can't see his face, which was usually how dreams worked anyway. She doesn't know his relation to the story, only that he is there. Somewhere in the dream there's someone else—a familiar face. Swimming in jelly, the kind with the whipped cream mixed in, chunky and green and disgusting, like neon vomit. He's wearing a long grey coat, following a silver thread that winds through the nothingness like a dropped ribbon. It's her silver thread. She can retract it at will.

And she should. She remembers this man—cruel, threatening. Something to do with Daleks.

But she lets him pass, unharmed. This man—Jack Harkness, that name rings vividly in her mind—he's a dangerous man. But he knows who the boy in the green rugby shirt is, and right now, that is everything.

XYZ

When it finally happened, Jackie was almost glad. Violet had been trembling and in pain for too long, occasional sobs escaping the girl. Violet had looked desperately at Jackie, telling the Doctor she didn't want to change.

And for her part, Jackie didn't fancy herself to be a detective by any means, but it was pretty easy for her to understand, or at least imagine, what was motivating that fear. She was afraid she wouldn't be loved if she changed, especially by her grandmother. So Jackie had done the only thing she could—she sat next to the girl and promised that she'd be there, telling her over and over that it was alright to change if she needed to.

What had happened in that office had frightened her nearly to death. Violet had just said that she understood everything; that the man was a traitor to his species and worse, then lunged for him. Her agonizing cries rang through the cavernous office and the smell of burning flesh began curling off the girl. The build up and buzz of their struggling exploded the air around them, paralysing the Daleks before they could even act. Another minute after that and everything exploded, including the metal creatures.

The man was gone before the fireworks had ended, which just left Violet on the floor, screaming in the dark. As her eyes adjusted, she followed the noise, kneeling next to her granddaughter, who was clawing at the thing around her neck, smoke coming off her skin as she howled. Finally with a trembling jolt of the girl's body, it gave way, unlatching and falling next to her. Jackie pushed it away, feeling how hot it was.

In the dim of the tiny light from the smoke detector, she could see the burns on Violet's hands and neck. The girl's teeth chattered, eyes looking around listlessly. "What'd you do that for, sweetheart?" The first time she sees the girl in nine years, and her granddaughter goes and gets herself nearly killed.

Once upon a time, Jackie cut hair. She lived on a council estate with her daughter, who was a mostly good kid with a penchant for making bad decisions. She'd lived through the whole Jimmy Stones fiasco, patiently waiting out the girl's love for the troublemaker. Oh Jackie'd raised hell at first—told Rose exactly what she thought of the girl's grand plan to drop out of school and move in with that hellion. But when she saw that Rose had made up her mind… well, some things kids had to learn on their own.

Thankfully her daughter hadn't ended up pregnant or worse before she came crawling back home, broken hearted and contrite. She'd put those pieces back together…was thrilled when she started going out with someone vaguely normal like Mickey, working in a shop and being a mostly productive member of society. It wasn't thrilling, but it was normal and safe.

Now look at her. She was living in another universe with it's version of her dead husband, praying that Pete and her daughter would come home from every stupid 'business trip' they went on. Daleks, Cybermen, that horrible green thing that had snuck into the house a few years ago… the lower floor (which was quite a lot of space to cover) had been completely destroyed, walls knocked out, slime all over…before Rose and Pete had caught the thing.

All this…chaos because her daughter liked dangerous men with dangerous modes of transportation. Not that she'd trade Pete or her granddaughter for anything… but for heavens sakes… what was so wrong with having one thing be normal? Why couldn't this reunion be filled with hugs and baked goods and tea and kitchen tables? Why was it involving kidnapping, monsters from space and explosions?

The thing that twisted Jackie Tyler's heart the most was that she didn't know WHY Violet had done it—didn't know if it was worth it. Even the Doctor, when he and Rose arrived, hadn't been sure of it. She'd have questioned his presence, but seeing Violet—she knew something was afoot. More than her being abducted out of her home in the early hours of the morning, even.

Which was why she'd told them to leave, after she'd heard what Pete was saying. As much as she wanted to tell Rose to stay in the bloody ship, where it was safe, the world needed them. So she'd shooed them off, ordering them to do whatever it was they did when the whole world was going to hell, leaving her with her granddaughter.

The Doctor had told the girl to stop holding her breath, that she needed air, so Jackie did that, trying to soothe the child as best she could. Jackie knew if she ever got her hands on that man again… well, he'd have more things to worry about than Violet blowing the whole place up. He'd have her to contend with.

Jackie couldn't say it happened suddenly—Violet had been restless and less than coherent with pain for so long, it seemed to drag on forever, but when it happened…

Well, she couldn't imagine how Rose hadn't been terrified out of her mind, if that's what had happened to the Doctor, right in front of her, without any warning. It hurt—she'd only just gotten her granddaughter back. She didn't want to try to imagine how the girl would be different, the way the Doctor had been different—but in a way she was thankful. If all of these things were going to happen (not that she didn't blame the Doctor for quite a bit of it), she wasn't regretful that Violet would survive, in a fashion. It had torn her to pieces when Violet left, she'd just outright die if something permanent happened to the girl.

When it happened, Jackie instinctively pulled away, blinded by the light. That part happened so fast. She'd tried to look once, but gold-white energy radiating from the bed would have seared her eyeballs out.

It died away, leaving a stranger in her granddaughter's place. Still a girl—not necessarily older looking, just more mature. Taller, too, by the looks of her clothes being stretched to the limits. Long, straight hair—something Violet had always wanted. Jackie would miss the lion's mane though. There had been something very… Violet about that. Something tiny and petit, sweet-looking, even, buried beneath a wild mess of hair.

This girl was…not quite sweet looking. She had a long, sculpted nose and high, hollow cheeks. Her jaw was not overly pronounced, but it did slope down in a sharp V. Her skin wasn't as pale, the freckles were gone.

When the eyes fluttered open, they were a pale blue. They didn't focus. "I think there're ponies under my bed, they might eat me," a mature voice that was quite in contrast to the actual content of the phrase muttered. Eyes rolled back in the girl's head, and she passed out.

Jackie tried not to chuckle as she began brushing hair away from the child's forehead, making soothing sounds. Changes aside—it was still Violet. Her granddaughter was still in there somewhere.

Staying with Violet for a bit, Jackie finally decided to make some tea. That seemed to make everything better the last time. Of course, it meant she had to find a kitchen in this mess of a ship. She hoped none of the equipment was too difficult for a mere mortal to understand. It wouldn't be too much to ask for him to just have a kettle like a normal person?

It hadn't taken her long to find a kitchen-type thing, and there was even a kettle. The thing weighed quite a bit—it was cast iron and old. When she came back, Violet was awake. She'd meant to be there when the girl woke, so she was a bit disappointed, especially to see Violet wandering around the room like it was foreign to her. Getting the girl to drink some tea, Jackie'd held onto her until she fell back asleep, and then went off in search of food. She supposed it was only natural, it must take an awful lot of energy to reinvent yourself.

Finding something that smelled like cheese and looked bread, Jackie had decided to make grilled cheese. Pulling out a cast iron skillet, she heard something thud several halls away. Rushing towards the sound, she heard arguing in the control room. "I thought I told you to stay put!" She recognized that voice.

Then a young man's voice, equally impassioned. "Oh, right, like I'm going to listen!"

Jackie stopped just outside the control room. "Ugh. Well, don't say you're going to listen, then don't listen. I mean, now I have to worry about not being seen and getting you killed!"

The kid hesitated. "Yeah, well, if you don't trust, you then I don't trust you either! I'm not just going to let her get killed by you, or the Daleks."

The older and taller of the two threw his hands up in the air, back to Jackie. "Even if you end up dead? Fine. Love makes people stupid. Come on, lets just find her and go—before the universe implodes."

Without thinking, Jackie pulled back and swung, slamming the cast iron skillet into the back of the man's head. She'd told herself that if she ever ran into him again, he'd be one very sorry individual. When his body dropped to the grill floor of the control room, she gave a satisfied huff. "That'll teach ya."

Winding up again, the young man held both hands up in front of him. "I come in peace!"

She hesitated, seeing the terror in his eyes. "Yeah, well how do I know you're not evil, like him?" If she had to, she'd do it.

The young man cringed. "He's not evil."

Pulling back with the skillet, Jackie frowned. "Yeah? Well, he killed my granddaughter. So go ahead—tell me he's not evil."

The boy's jaw dropped and his eyes got wide. "Violet? You mean Violet? What hap--" his throat closed up.

That son of a bitch lying unconscious at her feet was right about one thing—the kid was in love.

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

Standard disclaimers. Rosesbud am Bizarro Superman's worstest beta. Love her to death. Sorry I haven't posted sooner. Was online at the whocon, but wouldn't let me post. Evil thingy.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 8

XYZ

"I'd just like to take this opportunity to say how much I hate Torchwood," the Doctor muttered, still tweaking equipment in the back of Pete's van. He lowered his sonic screwdriver and turned the computer back around, giving it another try.

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Rose leaned over to look at the monitors, her body a little closer than his attention span could handle. He looked up at her, desperate for a bit of breathing room. "Sorry," she whispered, stepping back. "What's this going to do?"

Pete looked away. He began searching the skyline through the windscreen for any other signs of trouble.

The Doctor pointed to something on the monitor. "Hopefully use the same search sequence built into the sonic screwdriver, but utilize the satellites for a signal boost and tell us what is up there. Here goes." Aiming the screwdriver at the machine, he changed settings and it made a buzzing sound. There was a hesitation on the system's part, then numbers and graphs began scrolling across the screen. "Oh come on." Rising off the stool, the Doctor slapped the monitor. "No! Come on! That's not fair!"

Rose sighed in frustration. "What?"

The flat panel was shaking, but the Doctor grabbed it to stop it, trying to calm down. "The signal went up, bounced off of a satellite, and was retransmitted back down to Earth." He sat back down. "The good news is that, as far as I can tell, there's no mother ship. The bad news is, I have no idea what the hell it is."

"Great," Pete muttered from the front seat, turning the key in the ignition. "And I see some unmarked cars. Which means Torchwood is here. And it's a safe bet that they're not after the Daleks—they're probably after us."

Sliding the sonic screwdriver into his pocket, the Doctor sat up straight, tugging on what was left of his jacket to straighten it, the attempt at dignity somewhat comical. "Right. Plan. We go back to Torchwood, check on Violet, see if we can find this reality's Jack and beat some answers out of him, and barring that, I might be able to get a fix on where that signal went, if I have some better equipment."

A question dying on his lips, Pete glanced behind him at Rose, who slid up into the front passenger seat. "Great. We just broke out of there. Now we're going to break back in. Is the TARDIS even functional enough to do that?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I didn't say it was a perfect plan, it's just the best I've come up with. I think…THINK we have some time. It isn't just your 'lets destroy everything in our path' typical Dalek virus-like plan. They're putting some thought into this one, moving things behind the scenes. Which leads me to believe they're not quite done yet, and that once they are, we're completely and utterly doomed." He liked playing the optimist.

"Cheery," Rose noted dryly. "If we can get back to her, lets get back. But…will the TARDIS be able to do anything, in this universe?"

The Doctor gave a guilty little grin. "I have a bit of an ace up the sleeve. I happen to have a TARDIS that WILL work in this dimension. Ok, so he isn't capable of what you'd call…operation, necessarily. He's rubbish with time, and a bit tetchy with space, but the sensors should be working at least. I hope."

XYZ

None of the clothes in these drawers would fit her. The girl couldn't figure out why—other than them not actually being her clothes. They were ugly, anyway. It seemed entirely reasonable that this wasn't her bedroom, despite how Gran had acted. The pictures were childish, the color scheme was frightening and it was…messy. She didn't like that.

Stopping herself before she set about actually cleaning, she sat back on the bed a moment, a bit knackered. She was sure she hadn't slept long—the internal awareness of time was a bit odd. But she felt like being awake now, so she decided to go with it—until she was tired again. Maybe then she'd be able to sleep without the odd dreams about lime jelly and silver ribbons through time and space.

But right now, she needed clothes. These clothes were uncomfortable and she felt unnatural in them. Where to get clothes?

Clothing… clothing… the wardrobe.

Wandering out of the bedroom, she turned right, went down to the end of the hall, down two flights of stairs, around an odd bend, through something that looked like a closet…there were bins involved and something that smelled like fresh dirt…to a cavernous room with winding racks.

Oh that was embarrassing. She couldn't remember her own name, but dammit, she'd found her way to the wardrobe.

It made her wonder about herself. She hoped she wasn't the type of girl who spent all of her time reading magazines and shopping.

She hoped that she couldn't remember anything due to massive brain trauma. She hoped that whoever she was before… she wasn't that person now.

Walking through the rows, nothing really struck her fancy. It seemed reasonable that she should look for things in her size, then decide if they were 'wearable,' but a certain amount of vanity made her pass just about everything by. Looking down at her feet, she decided that she also needed new socks. This pink thing was just…not her.

If it wasn't her, what was? And if it wasn't her, who was she?

The girl was annoyed with herself. She had to tell the Doctor something, she needed to remember her name. There was someone she needed to kick in the shins, and…something else about the boy in the green rugby shirt.

Her head felt too full—it was heavy and unbearable. She sat on a hatbox that looked like it could hold her weight, rubbing her temples. Head trauma would certainly account for the confusion, and the headache… and the nauseous swimming feeling.

For just a second, her vision hazed, and everything in the wardrobe blurred like an impressionist painting. Neurological realignment was a term that suddenly had meaning. Her brain recreating itself, chemicals balancing out, receptors finding ways to talk to one another… it accounted for the personality changes that occurred during regeneration.

Regeneration. What a strange word. It implied…creating one's self. She didn't know how she felt about that—it seemed arrogant, like playing god. Death was as natural as life, and it hardly seemed fair that some should escape it and others not.

Deciding that she'd feel better in more comfortable clothes, the girl decided to press on, despite weakness and the splitting headache…not to mention the hunger that was now causing her innards to make strange squicking sounds deep in her guts. The sooner she was comfortable, the sooner she'd go back to that strange bed. It had been so soft and wonderful, despite being ugly and childish. And Gran was nice…she'd promised food and tea that wasn't as sweet.

Clothes were clothes. She'd be best off just picking something and worrying about her apparent stringent fashion tastes later.

Black trousers seemed fitting. Black was versatile, it went with everything. She found a thin short-sleeved white jumper with a high neck—white went with everything as well.

Surprisingly, she'd found herself needing a bra, and yet lacking one. She'd seemed to have been attired for being out in public, why would she run around without proper undergarments? Finding something white and without frills, she slid it on, then the jumper. The ribbed collar slid up her neck, flaring out slightly at the jaw. It was a…comforting feeling. Like armor.

Socks and boots presented themselves next, laying among the large hatboxes and strange costume pieces on the floor. The boots were nice—square toed, a maybe one-inch broad heel. They were black, zipping right above the ankle. They seemed right. She didn't know what her lifestyle was like, but they seemed appropriate—cushioned enough for activity but waterproof, which somehow seemed important.

Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, she wondered why it was like looking at a stranger. Sure, she had no idea who she was, what her name was…but the image of herself should have been familiar? Shouldn't it?

All of the things in the universe that sounded the most average and reasonable seemed to be the most intent on eluding her. Familiarity with her own face was one of these things. It should have been so simple and yet so…wasn't. She remembered freckles. It bothered her now that there were no freckles… but if there were no freckles, there were no freckles. It wasn't as if they'd been… taken away. Kidnapped by monsters in the middle of the night.

The long brown hair had hints of red streaked through it, when the light hit it just right. It was straight with a blunt cut just above her waist. It looked healthy—no breakage or fly-aways.

God, she really cared about the important things, didn't she? No idea what her name was, but dammit—she didn't have split ends. She suddenly cursed her apparent vanity.

Long, pronounced nose, notable jaw-line, expressive lips, like in renaissance paintings of biblical characters. She wasn't displeased with the chest, and somehow felt like she should be grateful for it. It wasn't enormous, but it was there—which seemed to somehow be an achievement.

But she felt…naked. Missing something.

Turning around in a circle, she tried to figure it out. A belt, perhaps?

Finding a silver one with oval links, she slid it through the belt loops, clasping it in front. It really was her good fortune—everything she'd pulled had fit…exactly. Circling one more time, she caught a glimpse of a thin wool jacket. It could have been a suit jacket, it could have been something for a cool season, she didn't know. Pulling it off a hanger, she slid it on, closing the two large round buttons of the double-breasted coat that hung off of her frame a little too…well, perfectly, ending at the knees. It had a large, exaggerated collar that the turtleneck poked out from, as if it had all been planned that way.

Shoving both hands in her pockets, she left them there. That's what she'd needed. Some place for her hands and other…stuff. Why? She didn't know. She just needed it.

Like balls of string. Those came in handy. And women's trousers seldom actually had pockets, and definitely not something large enough for a ball of string, the occasional bag of mixed nuts or even a rubber duck. She didn't know why these things were important, but somehow they were.

Wondering how long she could stand there, admiring herself, she heard rustling near the door. "Vi? Are you in here?"

She didn't say anything. The voice was young, male. As far as she'd known, she was on the TARDIS with only one other person—her gran. TARDIS? What kind of a name was that? Of course… what kind of a name was Vi? Vi had to be short for something. Time And Relative Dimension… wait. That had nothing to do with Vi. Acronym. TARDIS. See, she wasn't completely retarded, after all. Suffering from brain damage, yes, obviously. Functionally retarded in the medical definition of the word? Hopefully not.

A rack parted and a young man stepped through, breathing heavily. He sported a green and blue rugby shirt, chocolatey skin and eyes you could fall into. "Vi?"

The girl shrugged. "I don't know."

Grabbing both of her arms gently, he smiled… those beautiful plump lips pulling back to reveal straight white teeth. The kind of teeth that cost a good deal of money and time and pain to achieve.

Self-consciously, she rubbed her tongue over her own teeth—not nearly so perfect. "Sorry," she muttered, feeling bad, guilty somehow. "I just…do I know you?"

He looked disappointed. "Your gran said you'd…regenerated. She's looking for you—she went back to your room, and it was empty. Frightened her half to death, too, I might add. She doesn't know her way around the ship at all, so I went after you. You'll never guess what happened--" and he didn't wait for her to guess, either. "Your gran hit Captain Jack over the head with a frying pan. It was the funniest and most frightening thing I've ever seen. The Doctor's right—she is a bat." He paused for a moment, squeezing her shoulders, almost gushing. "Gosh. Look at you. You're taller. You got your straight hair that you always wanted!" The boy's smile made her heart skip. It slowly evolved into a grin as he held onto her arms. "How're you doing?"

The boy in the blue and green shirt… The girl couldn't think much more beyond that. She'd wanted to see him, it was why she'd let the dangerous man through, in her dreams. The man—Jack Harkness—knew where to find the boy. And now the boy was right here. On impulse, she leaned forward, doing the only thing she could think of—she kissed him on the lips.

Neither had any experience, though, it turned out. His lips were awkward on hers, but it wasn't like she was any better. It lasted a few moments—long enough for her to know that it was an action that had satisfied both of their curiosities. Leaning back on her heels, she looked at him. "What's my name?" she asked desperately, searching his eyes for answers. "What's yours? Where are we?"

He looked at her in shock for a moment, surprise turning to worry with just the slow raising of his bushy eyebrows. "Violet… don't you remember?" When she shook her head no, he wrapped both arms around her, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. "Oh Vi. I'm sorry. She said it had been bad—frightened her nearly to death. But you're ok. You're alive and standing here. If a little…different."

Just what the hell did that mean? Different? How was she before? "What am I?" It seemed a reasonable question to ask.

The young man's lips pressed against hers again—there was nothing desperate or curious about it this time—just a show of affection. "Violet, I'm Greg. I travelled with you and the Doctor for a year. We used to fight. All the time." A fond smile spread across his lips. "And if you're not dead-dead, it's safe to say you've passed your final exam and are now a Time Lady." He kissed her again, this time chastely on the forehead, holding her so close she had no choice but to put her head on his shoulder again. "I'm just so glad you're still alive. Is any of this ringing a bell to you at all?"

Violet. She had a name. It felt good to have a name, though she wasn't entirely sure it suited her. Well, if this wasn't her name, what did she hope to be called? "No. Yes…I don't know." She didn't know if it sounded familiar or not. Ok, it sounded familiar, but it didn't make sense to her.

Regeneration…he'd known that word too. It wasn't something her mind had made up to explain the sudden holes in her memory. Time Lady. That term sounded so… pretentious. She didn't know what to make of it… but these things were at least beginning to sound familiar—lived-in. "I think I'm tired." She hesitated for a moment. "I know I'm hungry."

He laughed. "Some things haven't changed at least." Grabbing her arms again, he pulled her away from him, inspecting her. "You just look…so much more grown up." This seemed to please or suit him. "Come on. Lets not worry your gran any more. And maybe we can convince her to untie Captain Jack."

Sliding her hand into his, she allowed him to lead her out of the wardrobe. "I remember Captain Jack. I'm supposed to kick him for something." She sighed. "I don't know why he's the only thing I can remember." It made her feel guilty. This boy obviously meant a lot to her… if she'd kissed him the moment she'd seen him. And it wasn't like he'd pulled away. "When Gran mentioned the Doctor… I remembered of him. But I don't remember him. I remember there was something I was supposed to tell him—something that was burning a hole in my mind with the need to get out…but it's gone too."

Pulling her towards a spiral stair case, he climbed up the first two steps, then leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Don't worry about it. It'll all come back."

She let him lead the way. Not being alone…felt weird. "I remember something else. Or maybe it was a dream. There was a lot of lime jelly…"

Greg's laugh interrupted her thought. "That was something I wanted to ask you—why the Void looked like a jelly casserole. The Daleks were like the gross little fruit pieces, suspended in it. It was… overly representative."

Violet shrugged. "I don't know. I think there's some strange reason… like… because I thought of it that way."

"There you are." Her grandmother rushed up to meet them. "You worried me nearly half to death. That seems to be mostly what you're good for, giving me grey hairs and making my heart stop twice a week." The woman ran a hand along her sleeve. "Don't you look all grown up. Do you feel better? I know those clothes weren't comfortable."

Violet nodded, letting herself be lead back towards that repulsive bedroom. "I guess. I..."

Knowing she was going down didn't really stop it from happening. She could just feel herself being pulled toward the floor as if by a magnet, and it was only strong hands wrapping around her that kept her from hitting the metal tiles with all the force of her apparently now-larger mass. "Alright. Somebody's had enough for now."

Her grandmother turned the blankets back down and Greg put her on the bed. He unbuttoned the jacket, helping her slide out of it, and her grandmother removed the boots. "It figures you'd overdo it," Gran told her. "I tell you to rest… so you have to go running around this crazy ship, hiding from me. Now just stay here like a good girl and I'll go get your food."

Head on the pillow and eyes closed, Violet felt sleep tugging at her. Sleep was preferable to the pain that was in her belly and the intermittent bursts of agony and confusion in her head. Maybe when she woke, everything would make some sort of sense.

Sitting on the bed next to her, Greg pulled the covers beneath her chin. "I'll sit with her. Make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble."

XYZ

Well, things were going splendidly. Jack had been beaten over the head by a little old lady with a skillet, and now he was tied up in the control room, the person he was supposed to be avoiding coming within two inches of his face. "Tell me how you got in here?" the Doctor demanded. "How did you get into my ship?"

He looked past the Doctor, over his shoulder and to Rose. God. She was so… alive. And not dead. Not to mention… older. Like she'd been privileged with an entire lifetime since they'd last met. He didn't begrudge her, though. She was looking quite good for it—not worn by time, just matured and tempered by it. Like a fine wine or a good sword. Possibly both.

He wanted to say something to her. He wanted to demand that they untie him, then he wanted to wrap his arms around her, stick his tongue down her throat, and laugh at how completely alive she was. Oh he should have known and believed that she'd be clever enough to somehow survive the invasion and the happenings at Torchwood One. Even if it was in a parallel world. Rose was just persistent like that.

Rose was here, and so alive… And glaring at him. "Answer the Doctor. How did you get in this ship?" One hand wrapped around his shirt, the other pulling back in a fist. Since when had Rose been so…tough? Not that it mattered—not when he was staring down that boney, muscled hand that was about to ruin his pretty boy good looks.

Aww hell.

Now came the part where, for the sake of not creating a paradox, he had to play the part of the bad guy he'd come here to have a nice long talk with.

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

Standard Disclaimers Apply. Thanks once again to the completely awesome Rosesbud for her superior betaing abilities.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 9

XYZ

There was screaming going on. Somehow, it seemed odd and yet not odd. But Violet had just fallen asleep again, drifting off to a place where her mind wasn't running through space and time at the speed of light, and she was annoyed. Couldn't the world just wait a few minutes while she took a nap, before they started clawing at her brain with the racket?

Greg had left her alone, so there was no one to send on an errand of mercy to shoot whoever was making a racket. She already missed him. She missed his light brown eyes that shone like afternoon sunlight through a murky piece of amber…his messy, greasy hair, his rough hands…she especially missed the way he'd taken to squeezing her hand and kissing her forehead, almost as if to verify for himself that yes, she was still there. Which was just fine with her—she'd taken to rubbing the back of his hand and leaving pecking kisses upon it for the same reasons.

She remembered that he had been going to leave her—leave this ship—and she hadn't wanted it. Of course, Violet wasn't sure that she, herself even knew why she'd felt so strongly about it, but she'd been near-insane with wanting him to stay. Suddenly… the memory of those feelings made sense.

It also made her heart light that he reciprocated—it was going to kill her when she had to send him away. Not every story had a happy ending—those memories were starting to come back, moreso than the happy ones. She saw herself becoming distant and jaded like the Doctor very soon. Of course, she couldn't even see his face in her mind, but she remember THAT much about him. There were so many holes in her mind…but possibilities abounded.

The jaded option screamed the loudest to her. It followed very closely on the heels of grief and death—Greg's mostly. Every possibility seemed to end in his death. Not a happy death after a long life…in every image that haunted her, he was young and vital, something sad in his eyes as he passed, a look of guilt that he was leaving her alone. God…she hated the universe. She hated its cruelty. Violet would have so much preferred that he not have left her here alone, with her thoughts of futures and pasts that weren't her own.

He had gone off with her grandmother for food… Food sounded so good. Food and a nap. That was all she needed right now. And a warm blanket. Food, a warm blanket, and a nap… She sensed there was a Spanish Inquisition joke in there somewhere, but she didn't know what it was, or why it was there.

Even that was frustrating to her. There should have been some 'obvious pun' but it wasn't presenting itself. All she could remember about the Spanish Inquisition was men in funny hats, and confessing to being a witch straight away, before she even knew what the charges were, which ended up only making matters worse. Apparently she'd only been accused of being a Jew and an Ottoman sympathiser. The whole 'witch' thing had just added a whole new level of pain to the experience. But it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Violet had no idea why.

She really wished that, whoever it was out there raisin such hell, they'd just stop. Was that too much to ask? Wishful thinking never got anyone anything, except some dead fish, maybe—therefore it probably fell upon Violet to just…make everyone stop, since that was what she desired most—quiet, warmth, satiated hunger and sleep.

Feet slung over the side of the bed, she grabbed the jacket for warmth and slid her feet into the shoes, not bothering to zip them up. That had lasted…oh, all of about ten minutes, maybe. Following the noise (which was now rattling around in her brain like ball bearings…heavy and metallic and making her eyes explode out of her head), she found herself in a kind of familiar place. She'd spent a lot of time here, that much she remembered.

The faces, however, were new to her. A woman in a pinkish-reddish jacket, a man in a battered suit coat who looked like he'd lost some battle somewhere along the way, and the man tied to the railing, trying to grin his way out of trouble.

Violet stood in the doorway (was it a doorway if there was no door? Well, it was where the rest of the ship spit out into this…she didn't know. Place she'd spent a lot of time), watching them for a moment—it was an interrogation gone horribly, horribly wrong or farcical. "Excuse me!" she interrupted.

Three heads turned to her in surprise—eyes all wide and sparkling, looking at her as if they knew her, and as if they'd never seen her before in their lives. .

It was kind of nice to have people's attention. "Some of us are trying to regenerate here. Can you keep it down?" How easily that word rolled off of her tongue. So very odd.

The woman gasped in surprise, more than shock. "Violet? …Vi?"

She walked past the woman who was being overly familiar with her—she should know the woman, Violet supposed, but for right now, she didn't remember her, or the man with the battered suit. They were also still looking at her like she was crazy. Hands in her pockets, she concentrated on the tied-up figure, recognising him in some sort of vague way, as if some figment of a dream had sprung to life. "Jack Harkness. Did you make it out of the jelly ok?" Ugh. Why couldn't she remember these other people, but she remembered him? The only name she'd been able to remember—not even her own.

He shrugged. "Yeah—that was a little weird. The Cybermen marshmallows were especially odd." So calm, so nonchalant. It made the man in the brown suit glare at him even harder, then look at Violet, trying to figure out what in the universe she was talking about.

Violet nodded, walking closer to him, making her way onto the walkway upon which he was tied.

Rose grabbed the girl's arm—not hard enough to hurt or actually restrain, just enough to hopefully make the girl rethink what she was doing. "Vi, why don't you stay back here, away from all that? You're not completely well yet… You should let us deal with this…"

She didn't stop Violet, though, letting the girl slip through her grasp when she moved forward, towards the man that was being treated like an enemy. Looking at the captive for a moment, she concentrated, trying to remember something that just wasn't there. Finally she took another step closer, pulled back, and kicked him in the leg, hard. "That's for…something. I don't know. But it was important and it involved horses."

With that, Violet let out a tired, oxygen-depleted yawn and turned around, walking back towards the room she had finally accepted as being hers. It would have to be completely redone of course, but for now it would work. It had the nice bed with the comfortable pillows. And if she was asleep, she wasn't looking at just how hideous and disordered the room was.

Stumbling down the hall in a weary haze, she heard someone behind her, but was too tired to care. "Violet, love..." Not turning around, she continued through the maze of halls. Back in her own room, she tossed herself upon the bed, head aching intensely. Kicking the boots off, she kept the jacket on, sliding her feet under the covers. There must have been seven blankets on this bed. But it suited her—right now she was cold.

The woman followed her into the room and sat on the bed. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright and everything. How're you feeling now, sweetie?"

Violet shrugged. This whole place was confusing. "I could do without the neurological realignment, but I'm told I always wanted straight hair, so I suppose that's something."

Smiling, the woman bent and kissed her temple, running a hand along her hair. "Yeah, you always did. So. How much do you remember?"

Tucking her hands under her arms to keep them warm, Violet shrugged. "I don't know. Green jelly. Jack Harkness, regeneration… that's all I woke up with. I don't know why." Looking away guiltily, she nuzzled against the pillow a little harder. "I…I don't know who you are."

The woman with the light brown hair rubbed her back. It was soothing; she seemed to remember being very small and sleeping in a room with a very bright night light. Maybe it was a bed stand light that threw off cool light—no, it was some kind of lamp with a light blue ceramic base that was a bit translucent. The light shone through the ceramic. She remembered the shadows dancing on the walls and someone rubbing her back, telling her it was well and truly time for bed, not to fuss any more.

Then they'd talk and say the things that only friends say late at night, jabbering about girl things and puppies and chocolate, until she fell asleep. She didn't know who the lady was—but she'd been her best friend.

Closing her eyes, the woman breathed in the scent of her, then kissed her cheek. "I'm your mum, Violet. Nothing's ever going to change that."

It made Violet smile, warm feelings filling up her chest. "We were best friends?"

Her mum nodded. "We were the best of friends. You were your gran's little pal, and you did girl things together, but we always talked. I've missed you, sweetie. I've missed you a lot. As soon as we fix all of this, you and I are going to drink hot cocoa, and sit by your grandfather's monstrosity of a fireplace, and you're going to tell me all of your adventures with the Doctor."

She sat up a bit. "The Doctor?" That must have been the man in the tattered suit jacket. "I had something I needed to tell him…"

Gently pushing her back onto the bed, her mother nodded. "I know. You left us too quickly—we never even got to find out why. Do you remember what it was now?"

Violet frowned, concentrating hard. "Only that it was important."

Sighing, her mother began rubbing her back again. "Just rest. We'll deal with this Jack Harkness, and the Daleks, and then you and I are going to go back to being the best of mates, alright? You can learn what your old boring mum's been up to, and I'll get to know you all over again, like I did with the Doctor."

This situation was hardly normal—that much she knew. People didn't just reinvent themselves on a cellular level at the drop of a hat. But her mum accepted it—accepted her.

Violet remembered looking up at the stars from some alien planet—the fire had gone out, and they'd let it. Easier to see the stars by. They were magnificent close up—big fiery beasts that looked as though they would swallow you whole and spit you out the other side. They were tiny and twinkling and just so there. It was cold—she could see her breath.

Tiny stick arms that weren't hers any longer propped her head up as they looked up at the jewels in the sky and he pointed to a star, explaining the fantastic adventure he'd had there with her mother. She'd thought about how her mum belonged out there far more than she did. That, if they couldn't be among the stars together, that she wished her mother could take her place. Even as a small child, she knew her mother wasn't meant to be Earth-bound. She didn't know how she'd known this as a child, and she didn't know how she remembered it now. It was one of her first lessons in life about unfair trades.

Closing her eyes, the girl thought of something—something she'd wanted to do before…all of this happened. Before, back in that time she couldn't quite remember. Ever so slowly, it was all coming through…like the fog burning off in mid-morning. If only her body would catch up and stop being so cranky and tired. That would be…heaven. Or at least functional existence. Actual memories were optional. An uncooperative body was not. "Can we all go on a picnic? The Doctor too?"

Her mother sighed, perhaps to disguise a shuddering breath and what might have been a sniffle. Violet suddenly recalled that her mother wasn't one to cry. It was as if she'd shed a lifetime of tears before Violet had even come along. "Anything. Just as soon as this is over-with."

XYZ

The Doctor leaned into Jack's face again. "Lets try this one more time." Dark brown eyes that held angry swirling nebulas bore into Jacks, like the Doctor would rip the answer from his mind, if Jack didn't comply.

He'd seen how fierce the Doctor could be—this new version was certainly prettier (he'd seen the Torchwood One security files), he pulled off the whole 'geek chic' thing very well, even if he looked, at the moment, to be quite the worse for the wear—still, there seemed to be little to no doubt that this Doctor would be just as brutal if provoked. That much was evident in the eyes and barred teeth. Under the scrawny slightly effeminate exterior was a barely controlled feral creature and Jack's silence wasn't really helping.

But he couldn't tell anything. Partially for Violet's sake. He couldn't imagine what kind of hell she'd catch for her interference in his time line. The Doctor wasn't all stuffy and…well, hardcore like the other Gallifreyans, or so he'd gathered from their talks in their time together. But he had a strict policy on playing it fast and loose with time and space—they both knew the dangers of doing that, and so as not to inadvertently change some piece of his own future by acquiring too much information (of course, he knew Rose was still alive… something he'd probably have to keep from the Doctor when they next met), he was going to have to continue playing dumb.

Patiently, he waited for the question to come 'round again. "How did you get in here?"

Jack could tell that it was killing the Doctor that someone he perceived to be an enemy had infiltrated his ship and home, and it had only been the fast thinking of one of his least favorite apes that had salvaged the situation.

Straightening out one leg, he shifted a bit, entirely uncomfortable sitting on the grating. "I guess she just likes me. Oh come on, Doc. You should know that a bit of intimidation won't work on me. I've been tortured for real before, you know. And I don't mean having to listen to your histrionics, no matter how painful that may be."

Glaring at him intensely for a few more moments, the Doctor let the silence drag on as he attempted to regain dominance over the conversation, which might have been a lost cause at that point. Jack had no idea what this other version of himself had done, or what he was like, but Jack had the sheer discipline of charisma and charm on his side. He was perfectly capable of usurping an interrogation, if need be. He'd done it enough times in his life—he could handle one Time Lord who really didn't like tearing people to pieces, and only would, if driven to it.

Finally the Doctor stood up straight, adjusting a setting on the sonic screwdriver. "I've always wanted to see what this setting would do to a living creature. Christmas present from a traveling companion—makes scrambled eggs. Perhaps we can try it on your brain…or your organs. That would be delightfully macabre." The Doctor grinned evilly. Yes, this Doctor had a much sunnier disposition—granted that you never crossed him. "Now tell me… what's happening with all of these Daleks. Why are they hollow?"

Hollow? That was a unique and different piece of information. At least this whole getting captured the moment he fell out of the Void thing was yielding some sort of knowledge that might at some point (granted he got out of this) be of some use. "Wouldn't you like to know." Ambiguous enough to be threatening, Jack supposed. He threw in a carefree snort for effect. That seemed like something an evil version of himself would do—or maybe he just hoped it would be so.

The Doctor seemed to buy it at least. Of course, part of being a good con man is believing the lie enough to sell it yourself. At least that period in his life was coming to have some sort of practical application. "Actually, I would." He jabbed the sonic screwdriver up against Jack's liver. "It would be a shame to have to scramble your insides—but this setting really should be tested out, and you seem to be my only willing—or unwilling as the case may be—test subject."

Wow, ok. Little harsher than the Doctor he'd last met—and that fellow had been downright uptight. He really—REALLY needed to diffuse this situation. For the sake of his innards. "I don't know, Doctor. If you're so very clever…why don't you figure it out? Why don't you tell ME what I'm doing with the empty Daleks." Because no, really—Jack wanted to know.

The Doctor glared at him, eyes lighting with some kind of angry fire as he tried to figure it all out. Jack only hoped he figured out what was going on with the Daleks, not that Jack wasn't the Jack he claimed to be. "You're working for the Daleks. Violet wouldn't let herself be handed over to them—she knows her life is worthless at that point, and I'd have gone after her. Then they'd have me too. But you're not just working for them, are you? That's what the hollows are for. But there's more. More that she wanted to tell me…"

The girl had figured it out. Whatever 'it' was—and it was awful. The small bits the Doctor was deciphering were bad enough, but there was something more. Jack only hoped it wasn't too late.

Something twisted in Jack's stomach, turning sour and making him just a tad nauseous. What was the other 'him' involved in, that was so awful that this girl would get herself killed, rather than handed over? It was something she didn't trust the Doctor to be able to rescue her from, which was telling—he'd travelled with the Doctor. He knew what they'd done to save Rose from the Dalek emperor. The Doctor left no one behind, and impossible, daring rescues seemed to be his middle name.

Putting on his best smirk, he went so far as to meet the Doctor's glare. "You really are a genius, aren't you?"

A second later, the sonic screwdriver was jabbing uncomfortably into his midsection. "Don't tempt me," the Doctor hissed. Obviously Jack had just found that line—the one line you didn't cross with the Doctor. He'd found the button to push in the other man's psyche that would result in the liquefaction of his organs. Jack would have to avoid that, really. He couldn't imagine the paradox that would result from having his insides turned to scrambled eggs…in a parallel universe. Levels of bad that they didn't teach you about in the academy.

There was some kind of shifting behind the Doctor. It was a familiar voice that spoke, and Jack would have smacked himself in the head, were he not bound up in a totally non-S & M manner (seemed to be the majority of the time Jack spent tied up, which was a shame—a bit of kink was good for the soul, torture and capture… not so much). "Uh… Violet wants you?"

The Doctor turned around, sonic screwdriver still at the ready, practically spitting at Greg. "What are YOU doing here? Is there anyone, in ANY universe that can listen to me?"

The boy looked down, apologetic. "I didn't want her getting into trouble alone…" He shrugged. "She, uh…I think she has something to tell you. It sounded important"

Pointing a finger at Jack, the Doctor told him with a simple look to stay right there, they weren't done. Handing the sonic screwdriver to the young man, he glowered his discontent that Greg was even there. "This button. If he moves, turn his brains to oatmeal."

Stalking off, the Doctor left them alone, in awkward silence. As soon as the Doctor's footsteps turned into just a feint echo, the boy slid under the railing, coming around behind Jack, changing settings on the device as he went. "Not so stupid now, am I?" he whispered, undoing both the rope and the handcuffs with the few presses of a button.

Pulling the ropes off of himself, Jack got to his feet as quickly as possible then made for the door. "This wouldn't have happened if I wasn't talking to you to begin with," the man justified. "But thanks. How is she?"

With a shrug, Greg followed him out of the ship. "Dunno. She was asleep the last time I checked—I'd gone in to put food on the night stand. Just figured it'd get the Doctor out of here. She's physically exhausted, and her mind is Swiss cheese, but other than that, I think she's OK."

Letting the doors close behind them, Jack nodded. "That's good. Something, at least. What're you following me for again?"

The young man shrugged, following him out of the room containing the TARDIS, and what looked like the remnants of a torture facility. "I figure the minute he comes back and sees that I let you loose, I'm even more toast than you are. And you're quite toasty."

Jack had to grin as he ducked his head around the door, searching the ill-lit hall for signs of life. "You know, if Torchwood had interns, I'd almost think of sticking you down in the mail room. Of course, we'd need mail for that, too. How do you feel about cleaning up pterodactyl shit?"

Following, Greg shook his head. "Uh huh. No offence, or anything, but I just want to finish uni."

Trying not to smirk too smugly, Jack swallowed a chuckle. "Uhh huh," he mumbled, pulling an energy weapon off of an unconscious guard and stuffing it into his belt at the small of his back. "If that was the case, you'd be in your room, doing homework. You wouldn't be in a parallel universe telling little white lies to a Time Lord."

The younger man shrugged self-consciously. "I'll go anywhere she is. Makes me an idiot, I know. But… better to do something you'll regret, then to regret something you didn't do. Or something."

Jack had to grin. The kid was a pathetic mess, but at last he was willing to take a chance. Rewards were usually equal in size to the amount of hard work or chance involved. He was taking a big one for a girl who, at this point, might or might not reciprocate.

This time yesterday? Jack would have said she was hopelessly in love, and he didn't have a clue. Who knew how Violet would come out of this. She might find him annoying, banal and possibly even painful to be around just as easily as wanting to jump him and have his little Timebabies right here and now (Timepuppies? Jack decided he liked Timepuppies better). Oh how quickly things changed. There was a slightly tragic element to that, and he hoped something worked out for one or two of the crazy kids.

His hope seemed to have some good luck attached to it—looked like something had come from his secret desire that Rose and the Doctor just get on with it—the innuendo and stolen glances had filled the TARDIS with a kind of tension that was palatable and yet both parties were oblivious to. It meant that Jack had been reduced to flirting with both parties involved relentlessly, but hey, he was just doing his part for the sake of the universe (or so he told himself).

He'd seen the way Rose had looked at the girl—their relationship was rather clear. Jack was dying to know what had happened on the game station and beyond. Ok, maybe not dying. Dying seemed to be the whole crux of the issue. But he was desperate for answers and now made hopelessly curious now that he'd seen what was to become of the Doctor's future (oh, he'd all but have ants in his pants when he finally did meet the Doctor next—he might still be in need of answers, but he also now possessed a piece of the puzzle that'd be difficult to keep to himself).

Hearing noise on the other end of the corridor, Jack grabbed the young man's shirt to stop him from proceeding forward, lifting a finger to his lips, and then pointing to a small alcove created by a recessed door. "Lets hurry this up. I need to have a rather long talk with myself."

Very briefly the sour feeling returned to his stomach—what kind of a man was he, in this world. And why? What would make Jack become someone playing both sides of a game he couldn't possibly win? How desperate was he?

TBC…


	10. Chapter 10

Standard Disclaimers Apply. Thanks to Rosesbud for her beta help. I heart her.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 10

XYZ

Finding Violet still asleep and Rose sitting with her on the bed, the Doctor could feel a vein protruding on his forehead. It started throbbing when Rose confirmed that Violet had been asleep for the last five minutes, and to the best of her knowledge, the girl didn't remember what she was supposed to tell the Doctor.

Rubbing her daughter's back, Rose asked the Doctor if she was needed, or if she could have a few more minutes and inquired as to the state of the interrogation.

Without answering her question or saying another word to explain his presence or current agitated state, he seethed his way back to the control room, which was now empty, cut ropes in a tangled mess on the floor. He was going to kill that kid. Of course, he had no idea which version of that kid it was, or who had let either of them into the ship.

If it was some alternate version of the young man he'd spent the last year (relative Earth time, of course) travelling with, what the heck was the kid doing here? Shouldn't he have been off being normal and doing every single last thing his mother told him to do? Perhaps it was just this reality. The people in it were here to haunt him. Like Rickey. He had managed to find the only version of the universe in which Mickey Smith was part of some resistance group.

With the Doctor's current bout of luck, Greg was on the Torchwood intern program and the kid delivered coffee and mail while getting valuable experiencing in learning to be evil and destroy the world. Or that could have been the Greg from his reality, but why was he using subterfuge to get the Doctor out of the room, all so he could let Jack go?

Why the hell…?

Well, he didn't have time for that now, did he? Since he'd lost his chance to get it from the horse's mouth, he'd have to do this the old-fashioned way—by actually working for it. He couldn't worry about chasing down evil Jack Harknesses or boys with questionable amounts of intelligence and (or) sanity right this moment.

Retrieving his sonic screwdriver from among the twisted ropes, the Doctor wondered why Greg would just leave it? Every time he found an answer, he found more things that didn't make sense. Trying to push everything else aside, including his desire to look in on Violet, he marched into the bowels of the ship, to the cargo room housing the other TARDIS.

He hoped the sonic screwdriver had enough information from the failed attempt with the computers in Pete's van to help the other ship get some definitive answers as to what the hell was going on, and how to stop it. Of course, his luck being what it was lately, Greg might not have been as stupid as he looked, and had wiped the information from the screwdriver's memory.

Opening the door of the other TARDIS, he slammed it behind him, then marched to the pristine white console and began flipping switches. He didn't like that there were Daleks of unknown origin running around this time and place, pulling strings. He didn't like that this world's Jack Harkness was involved with the Daleks, and involved in what had happened with Violet. First thing was first—he really did need to deal with the killer machines. But if he came across Jack again, he might not be able to stop himself from doing the man permanent harm.

She was only sixteen. Sixteen! He was proud as hell that a girl that young could manage it—but she never should have had to. A child shouldn't have been put in that position.

Pausing for a moment, he took a few deep breaths. Yes, he could kill this Jack. He could probably do it and have trouble stirring up remorse. But he was in charge of the girl—he was responsible for teaching her and protecting her…and look what had happened. Look how well he'd protected her from the universe.

Then he hadn't even stayed with her—when he'd promised that he would. He'd looked right into her eyes and told her that he'd stay with her through the regeneration, guide her through it, provide what moral support he could—and he hadn't. Even as terrified as he'd been that she would be too young and inexperienced to manage it, and he'd be coming back to the TARDIS to find her tiny body cold and stiff with death, he'd left her. He'd done his duty by the universe and gone after the Daleks—as fruitless as that had been. He'd left her and gone after the Daleks… and the Daleks had vanished into thin air. Could he be any more useless?

Running data and readings through the ship's computers, the Doctor prayed this TARDIS was whole enough to help.

XYZ

Rose looked at her mother in the doorway, who was holding two cups of tea. She knew she was going to have to get up soon, get back to work. But for a moment she could pretend that she was a real mum—just a mum sitting with her sleeping child…maybe nursing her through some childhood illness. Something normal like the chicken pox—something only solved by time and hugs and hot soup.

Taking the second cup, Rose blew once on it, and then took a sip of burning liquid. It tasted a bit…iron-y. "Thanks." Setting it down next to the plate with the grilled cheese sandwich on the bedside table, she tried to smile bravely for her mother. "Things could be worse, right?" with the last, her voice caught. "I could have not had that little bit of time with her before…" she let out a shuddering sigh as Jackie sat on the edge of the bed with her. "I just thought…we'd rescue you and the Doctor, we'd stop whatever Torchwood was doing, then…" Then she'd have her happy ending—the one she'd been denied all of these years by chance and fate. "When I left her to find you on her own, I never thought…God. I'm a horrible parent."

And Jackie didn't contest it, which proved it was true. The silence ate at Rose while she watched her mother fuss with the other cup and plate, making sure they were secure on the table that was overcrowded with the things that had been taken from the girl's pockets—explosives, mobile phone, sonic staple remover. The kind of 'toys' a child shouldn't have been exposed to. But she wasn't a child any more, was she? She was a grown woman. She'd managed regeneration—she'd have been granted full adult status in the Doctor's society, were it still in existence.

After fidgeting with the napkin for a moment, Jackie sat next to her only child, tucking light brown hair behind her daughter's ears, as if she were no older than Violet. "Rose, things don't turn out how we plan. When you were a baby, and your dad died, I just remember holding you, looking at that grave, and thinking how all the things I'd hoped for us would never be. And tried to imagine what would happen—I never could. But I certainly never thought I'd have another chance with Pete. I never thought I'd be sitting in a space ship with my amazing grown-up secret agent daughter and my amazing slightly alien granddaughter. But I went through a lot of years of crying at night, and then years of worrying about you… and it all worked out."

Rose never felt happier to have her mother as her mum. Despite the tears that had welled in her eyes, she smiled. "I told her we'd sort this, then I'd get to know the new her. And I mean to do that—I really do. But… well, I wish I'd have had more time with the old her. I still wish I'd have had more time with the old Doctor." She wiped her tears away. "No use crying over it now. What's done is done." But her mum was right—she was mourning what wouldn't happen, more than she was mourning what had happened. "No time for self-indulgence now. I told the Doctor before—we have to save the world so that she has a world to hate us in."

Jackie Tyler brushed the hair out of her daughter's face that had just come untucked. "You do what you need to. I'll be right here."

Turning around, Rose looked at the girl, curled up and asleep on her side. She looked like a stranger—a familiar stranger, but not her daughter. It could have been worse—Violet could have died. It could have killed her permanently, instead of just changing her. Of course—if Violet was normal, would any of this be happening? Well—she wasn't normal…so there was no point in dwelling on it, really. It was best to simply accept reality as it was, and work to maybe…make it better for the future. "She wants to go on a picnic, when it's all over. All of us. I hope we get that chance." But knowing the way Rose's life had gone thus far, it would take something just shy of a miracle to make it happen.

Trying to learn the new smell of her, Rose bent down again, kissing the girl's cheek, inhaling deeply. Apricots, heavy cream and crisp, freshly dyed wool. "I'd better find the Doctor. Before we have another…Dalek eruption." They were laying low for the moment—and she knew it would only be a moment. Their presence wasn't secret any longer, so she doubted they'd work hard to conceal themselves for any length of time. Stealing another sip out of the cup, she hesitantly went to the door then turned back to her mother and child. Her mum was a much more amazing woman than she gave herself credit for. "See if you can keep her out of trouble."

Of course, Rose knew with Violet, that was always easier said than done. She was her mother's child, and Rose could hardly go a day without some sort of trauma or drama, and she'd spent her formative years with the Doctor. That was enough to earn anyone a permanent spot in 'trouble.'

XYZ

Throwing the last bit of shrapnel (from this particular fallen Dalek) into the back of the flatbed, Mickey sighed. Pete might complain he was too old for this, but Mickey was starting to feel it too. All-nighters were getting tough, the manual labour was getting more difficult, and dealing with deadly space monsters was starting to wear thin on his patience. Mickey Smith needed a break.

Slamming the side of his fist against the metal tailgate, Pete began pulling away. They were going to have to find a place for these things. It didn't seem like taking them back to the office for R and D to deal with was the best of ideas right now—he couldn't guarantee they wouldn't be fired or killed on sight. And, really, did he want to hand over even nonfunctional bits of the universe's most dangerous creature for an organization of dubious intention to do heaven knew what with.

Pete had caught him up a bit on their latest happenings—he'd run across the Doctor and Rose, who were trying to figure out where the Daleks were coming from (and apparently that wasn't going all that well, from what Pete had indicated). He'd dropped them at the building where the TARDIS was being held, and from what he could tell, Violet was there and Jackie was with her. OH what a strange world they lived in.

Ten or fifteen years ago, he'd have been angry for the Doctor's mere presence. Right now, however, he was just happy for any and all help that they could get. Sure it was a cruel world, and for the most part, he'd learned to do what he needed to in order to survive and get the job done, but it was nice to have backup. He'd say it was nice to have someone with a plan, but he knew the Doctor didn't specialize in those—improvisation was the alien's sport.

Still, the Doctor's improvisation was often better strategy than some of the most well thought out battle plans. He was almost giddy (or maybe it was the sleep deprivation—hard to tell) to have someone around who had a prayer of doing more than just running around after these things with giant laser cannons and hoping for the best.

Walking down an alley, Mickey sighed. Great. They'd never get the flatbed down this thing—it was far too narrow, and there were twisted pieces of a hollow, as they'd been dubbed, at the far end.

With a sigh, Mickey began dragging warm metal towards the vehicle. The more of these things that they got rid of before the local authorities or the general populace saw and got involved in dealing with, the better. Who knew if they were all really dead? Who knew what people would try to do with this stuff? Mostly Mickey just didn't want to find out. He wanted this to be over-with, and then he wanted to live out the remainder of his existence forgetting about Daleks.

Mickey wasn't even having waking dream type fantasies regarding beaches and drinks with umbrellas in them, though if he happened to wake and find himself in just such a situation, he wouldn't be upset. But he'd settle for a few days on the battered sofa he'd inherited upon his grandmother's death. He'd eat cereal drenched in beer and flip endlessly through his five channels, content his lack of quality three am programming.

He'd retire like that. Well, his current relationship with Torchwood pretty much hosed, retirement might be closer than was typically accepted. Still. He could turn into one of those crazy old men that heated up tins of beans by putting the opened can directly on the gas range. The most challenging part of his day would be deciding whether he was up to dealing with people enough to open his front door and check the mail.

Yeah. That'd be the life—ta hell with Daleks and Torchwood. Slightly crazy recluse was the life for him.

XYZ

In order to get them working on the problem correctly, it had taken two modifications of the ship's computers. There was now a thick black cable running from the mercury converter under the console to the external sensor on the console itself. It was stark and in almost violet contrast to white interior of the ship. The crystal-driven wave analyser was borrowed from his own TARDIS and therefore, by Violet's exacting standards, looked like hell. He'd made a few other modifications…which were all ugly changes that had required improvisation on the console, which would drive Violet to apoplexy…that was…if she was still the type of girl who was bothered by such things.

Who knew what regenerating would do to someone so young? It wasn't like Time Lords regenerated for fun and profit back in his day—usually it was something infrequent and often planned. By his own people's standards he was running through regenerations like Jelly Babies on a sugar binge. And he'd certainly found new records for shortest periods between regenerations. But at least his first had been when he was… responsibly older. Sixteen! It made him sick. He wasn't sure who he was angriest with—the Daleks, himself, or her.

Behind him, the door opened. "Bout time." He hadn't meant it to sound that way—tetchy, and, well, like his last self on a 'humans are stupid' day.

Not bothering to respond to his obvious attitudal issues, Rose sighed, wandering over with her arms crossed over her chest. "Progress?"

He pointed to one of the controls and some display he knew would mean nothing to her. "Not really. It's thinking about thinking about processing. Which means Daleks could possibly destroy the Earth before this thing gets a move on." He looked up at her, feeling a touch guilty. "Sorry. Not like there's all that much to do here anyway, right now at least. How is she?"

Shrugging, Rose yawned, tiredness catching up with her due to inactivity. It was much easier to keep going when you were running for your life. There were circles under her eyes, he saw now. "Other than an apparent obsession with lime gelatin, she seems to be taking it all rather well. Better than me, even." From the half-hearted attempt at a smile, he could tell that she was trying to see the best of the situation. "She's alive, and that's what matters, right?"

Nodding once, the Doctor went back to his knobs and switches, trying desperately to keep his thoughts organized. Sixteen! Rubbing his bruised temple, he ran fingers through his hair as he looked at the readouts. They didn't mean anything right now, it would take a bit more refinement, but the signal hadn't been directed upward—that had been an apparent smoke screen (he hated it when the Daleks got clever—it usually meant they were incredibly doomed, which was pretty amazing because there tended to only be 'doomed' and 'undoomed' and not a whole bunch of layers beyond and between…but somehow he'd find a whole new level of doomery if the Daleks had a plan). He just needed to figure out where the signal had been redirected to, and what in the universe it had been, if not a transmat. "I'll feel better after I break something," he conceded.

With a light touch, Rose reached up and grabbed his hand from his hair, pulling it back down to his side and squeezing it affirming. "You're doing everything you can. And just remember… Violet has a mind of her own. Sometimes not the greatest of judgment…but her own mind. She's going to do what she pleases. Do you have a minute to look in on her? It might jog her memory."

But he could hear the subtext in this, too—it might also give him a few moments to centre himself. "Maybe." As much as he didn't want to… he probably needed to step away for a few moments. This whole thing was making him insane—it was just too much too quickly. Seeing Rose again, Torchwood, some other Jack, Violet, this whole regeneration…thing. Just forget about Daleks, the Void and this terminable mess he was going to have to sort out, in addition to the whole getting home thing…

She held on to his hand a moment more before releasing it. "I needed a minute or two myself. I never get to do anything…properly. Never just get to take care of her properly or…" she sighed. "Well, what's properly? I mean…this is what we do." Leaning against the console, she looked down at the readouts, all of which meant little to nothing to her. "Well, I guess that's for me to sort. What should I be watching for here?"

He was being dismissed. The Doctor didn't deal well with inactivity, or 'breaks,' and he was being forced to take one now. It wasn't like this was processing in anything even vaguely resembling a timely manner, and it certainly would be moot if Violet would remember something. Then he could get on with the very important work of stopping the Daleks.

Why were they here? What were they…

Ok. He was going in circles. The process was still running and his mind was completely devoid of a new approach to the problem. "I'll be…five minutes? Not even…" Pointing to some petite rectangular display that looked quaintly retro, with the plasma monitor readouts taking the form of a white counter with a black needle, he tapped one end of the glass. "It'll start bouncing up near the high forties when it's close to triangulating where the signal relayed to. That's about it, I guess."

She made a shooing motion, and with just a bit more hesitation, he managed to drag himself out of the smaller TARDIS and back into his own ship. Wandering up two levels and into a corridor he knew very well. The door to the room that Greg has only recently vacated was open, the room itself empty and dark. Two rooms down, the door was also ajar, warm light spilling out into the hall.

Jackie sat in the desk chair, leafing through one of the girl's novels. Violet herself was curled up on her side, dead to the world.

The Doctor leaned against the doorframe, watching them both for a moment. It was almost something normal, and that made him feel like an intruder. 'Normal' seemed to be something that Rose craved—at least in bits and pieces, and at least where her daughter was concerned. He'd learned much about the nature of motherhood in the last several hours.

This 'normal' was not his lot in life. Even with a child aboard, domesticity had always eluded him. A tuck in at night as close as he ever managed to get. He'd failed so miserably at providing a domestic environment for the girl…who knew how many thousands of neuroses would develop from that. Beside the nightly routine, conversations about the way the universe worked while they tinkered with one or the other TARDIS or in stolen quiet moments on planets while looking up at the stars were about as close as he'd ever managed to providing a proper upbringing.

Rose was right—at least she was alive and have the opportunity to grow up and hate him for it later. Well…Susan hadn't grown up to be an ax murderer—it wasn't a testament to the stable home environment he was capable of providing, it simply meant that kids were remarkably resilient. "How's she been?"

Jackie closed the book, her finger holding the page. "Asleep, thank goodness. I don't know if I can take any more of her wandering around, looking so lost."

For this, the Doctor had no reply. He simply watched her, recognising something there in her relaxed features—something he'd seen on her face all the nights that he'd looked in on her—a tranquility that overrode any of the angst of the day and surpassed any anxiety about the future or the past.

That was all that was familiar to him.

It wasn't as if he'd never changed before—this was the tenth version of himself. Nor was it like others hadn't changed around him. It wasn't exactly common among his people, but it was celebrated. He'd travelled with Romana both before and after a change. This shouldn't have been so…

He hated feeling like this. Like…

Jackie snapped him out of his reverie. "Well?" she asked, wanting to know what he had to say for himself.

There were some constants in the universe—Jackie's distain for him was one of those constants. It could almost have been considered comforting, in the right circumstances. "It's the last thing I wanted—look. I left her with her friend for a reason—we wanted her to stay out of this." Violet never listened. Well, that wasn't true. She listened when it suited her. Obviously it hadn't suited her to do as she was told. And look what it had gotten her?

His ninth self had met the girl once…and he hadn't even realised who she was, at the time. The experience had been quite upsetting—he assumed that it was some fluke of time or the universe, that somehow this child from his past (his first self had also encountered her, and he'd been quite upset that someone with no qualifications would be running around time and space with a broken TARDIS) had wandered to Earth, looking for the Doctor's help. It had made him physically sick to look at her—he knew that the second she set off into time and space and entered any zone that coincided with the Time Wars, she'd pop out of existence… and there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop it.

In a fit of anger (though, to be honest, she'd been provoked—his last self hadn't been overly kind to the girl he'd considered a specter of his past, someone who would fall back into an anomaly and vanish, with the rest of the Time Lords as soon as the ship repairs were complete), she'd once asked him if he had always done as he'd been told, mentioning how he'd come by his TARDIS, which had been by less than honest means. She was right—he was very bad at playing by the rules. Why had the Doctor expected Violet to? Especially when he'd used subterfuge to get her out of the ship, and into a situation that he had deemed 'safe.'

The girl's grandmother shook her head, as if she didn't know whether to believe him or not. There was some question in her eyes, and he couldn't imagine what in the world she wanted from him? A pound of flesh, probably. Or his head on a silver platter. Either'd probably be just fine for Jackie Tyler.

Doing his best to ignore the imaginary daggers Jackie was shooting him, he concentrated on the girl intently, trying to memorize her new features. Violet had never liked her hair. No matter how short it was cut, no matter how well-conditioned, it was always wild and unmanageable. Now it was smooth and soft, not to mention far longer than the girl had ever dared to keep it before. It was a rich brown, deep red strands reflecting like spun silk highlights.

High cheek bones, hollow cheeks, sharp pointed chin…her lips were familiar. They were the only mark of her mother that the girl still bore. And the eyelashes…which were fluttering…

Coming to the foot of the bed, he leaned against the pile of folded blankets. "Hello there," he offered quietly, smiling for her sake.

She yawned, rubbing the side of her head. "I'm hungry."

A chuckle escaped involuntarily from him. Some things didn't change, and that was good to see. For some reason, he needed that familiarity. Once again, he was reminded of how amazing Rose was—she'd stuck with him through his change, and he'd given her nothing resembling warning that it was coming. "That's a funny name you have there, Hungry. I'm called the Doctor."

Jackie handed the girl a plate. "I think it's mostly not poisonous, though you'd never know with that one," she eyed the Doctor critically—apparently the only way she was capable of looking at him. "At least everything in his icebox was still cold."

The Doctor folded his arms over his chest, trying not to roll his eyes. "Which would be intrinsic to the nature of an icebox, Jackie. It's a little more complicated than an icebox—which is a rather primitive food preservation method, by the way. It runs on criminoid fusion which--"

Violet sat up abruptly. "It looks like an icebox though. Not even a proper refrigerator. It looks like a box. For ice and food."

The Doctor grinned. She was coming back. "I'm glad to see that you remember the important things. Bet you have no idea what planet you're on, but if I asked you to find the tea cupboard, you'd be just fine with that."

Her brow knitted. "I know exactly where and when I am, thank you. You don't need to be…smart with me, simply because your food storage unit is unattractive."

She was still… full of attitude. Cantankerous even. That much hadn't changed at least…even if her fashion tastes had become a tad more refined. Well, at least she looked rather put together. He'd gone through some…unfortunate wardrobe periods during various regenerations, but black was classic and rather hard to go wrong with.

Unable to help it, the Doctor gave her calf a pat through the blankets. "That's a girl. There's the old fighting spirit. I think you'll be up and about in no time. Looks like this whole regeneration thing could have gone a lot worse for you."

Putting her head back on the pillow, the girl scratched her left arm, as if she were chasing after some sort of phantom injury. "You're very odd. I can't imagine what it is that I have to tell you, or why it's of any importance." Dragging the plate onto the bed with her, she took a bite of the sandwich, chewing it thoughtfully. "It seemed important at the time."

It was possible that she'd never remember.

And if she didn't remember now…well, he had things to attend to. As nice as it was to trade barbs with someone who really didn't remember him one iota... if she didn't have answers for him, he'd be required to find his own, which meant his time could be better spent elsewhere. "That's alright. Rest yourself. I'm sure there'll be danger soon enough for you to go tossing another life away on."

Yawning, the girl rubbed her eye, and then froze. "There were sparks—there was so much electricity—it was so hot."

Oh dear. She was beginning to remember the circumstances of her own demise. Sure it was inevitable—the Doctor had eventually remembered all of the events that had preceded his various…transitions, as it were. But still—of all the things to recall… that was probably the one that'd do her psyche the most harm in the quickest manner possible. "It's alright," he told her. "You don't need to think about that. Just think about remembering everything else. All the places we've been…all the places you've wanted to go. Your mum, your gran…Greg."

That name struck a cord. She hesitated again. "Greg. Is he alright? He said he'd sit here, and then he was gone…"

How to explain that he was… AWOL, exactly? Perhaps he should just say it. "We had a Captain Jack… you saw him, you remember? Well, he let Jack go free. So I suppose that he's gone off with Harkness. I'm not sure why, or to what end. Did you bring him with you? Or let him into the ship? I can't imagine him finding a way here on his own."

The girl shook her head as her grandmother took the still half-full plate away from her, placing it back on the table. It seemed to be that, or having the girl end up with her head in the sandwich. "I don't know. I was in the wardrobe, and then he was there. He has…" she closed her eyes and smiled. "Very nice lips. Really. They're…cool and sweet. Like pickles."

The Doctor looked away. Not exactly something he wanted to think about, especially in the context of him having told that boy over a year ago that if he made anything even vaguely resembling an overture towards Violet, he'd find himself to be on the wrong end of serious bodily harm. Leaving him inside an active volcano was a topic that had come up once or twice but situations involving impalement and disembowelment were beginning to pop into his overly-agile mind. "Violet…can you please just stay away from him…at least until we have all of this settled, that is."

The girl shrugged. Quite possibly as honest of an answer as any that he'd ever gotten from her. She might, she might not. Probably depended on how she felt at any given moment.

Sighing, he stood up straight—might as well get on with it. "I hope some day you'll trust me enough to listen, when I tell you to do things. I hope that you'll at least have that much faith in me."

There was a knock at the door, and he turned, seeing a breathless Rose, standing in the doorway, hand hovered above the brownish red metal door, as if she'd knock again to get attention, if necessary. "It's hit forty. I think we have our answer."

The Doctor turned back to the girl, smiling as kindly as possible. "If you'll excuse me…I have some Daleks to locate and destroy." Silently, he thanked Jackie for staying with her. The woman would keep Violet in line—he hoped. "You just stay right here and rest. Like I said—you'll find trouble, soon enough."

With that, the Doctor ran after Rose, back to the control room of the other TARDIS, Looking at the controls, he gave a bit of a gasp, the data had come as such a surprise. Sighing, he looked back at Rose…possibly for support. He didn't know any more. "That's just…, great. Fantastic. Lovely. Kill me now, even. Now how are we going to defeat this thing?"

TBC…


	11. Chapter 11

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 11

XYZ

Tutting and clucking like a mother hen, Jackie pushed the girl's shoulder down, trying to get her to lay back on the bed. "Back to sleep now. Just because that bloody donor came in here stirring up trouble, doesn't mean you get a free pass on runnin' around."

Violet didn't comply, which seemed typical for Violet in all her many forms. Jackie could remember so many nights of dragging the girl out of hiding places and into the shower or from the cellar, after she'd been told a thousand times not to go down there. If the Doctor had one tenth of the 'fun' she and Rose had always had in putting the girl to bed, then there was some sort of justice in the world.

In defiance, Violet ducked under her grandmother's hand and swung her legs off of the bed. "I'm fine. For now."

Well, at least she was being honest. "For now. Until you pass out, or worse. You don't have to save the world all the time, you know. You can leave it up to other people now and again. So why don't you just go back to sleep. It'll do you good." Jackie noted her grandchild's incredulous stare. "Well, it can't hurt! It ain't natural for your whole body to just explode, and someone else wakes up in your place. I'm thinking, some more tea, maybe another sandwich, maybe a bit more of a nap…"

The girl was far too awake (for the moment) to consider it. Damn the Doctor—she'd been sleeping. Why the hell had he had to come in her and get Violet all stirred up? "I—I'll be ok. Really. I don't think I like bread any more and…I should at least figure out what I was supposed to tell him. It seemed awful important."

Indulgence dripping from her voice, Jackie pushed the girl's hair over her shoulder. "Sure—sure. You can think about what you were supposed to tell him. You can think about it with your eyes closed, while you're resting up. I'll make you something else, if you don't like bread. What about…I don't know…what else does that lump have on this ship to eat?"

Brows turned downward again in concentrated frustration, Violet shook her head no. "I'm not hungry. Look—I just…I'll figure it out on my own. I don't know why, but I have to. Besides, no one stays in bed this late in the day except for students and people working the graveyard. It's ten forty-one. That's just not respectable."

Jackie checked her watched, somewhat surprised at the girl's accuracy—especially considering there were no other time keeping devices in the room. "It's not unrespectable if you're ill. Now listen to your grandmother and get back under those covers." The girl didn't obey and Jackie gave an aggravated groan. "You might not think you're ill, but you did just change into a whole new person—that's just not normal. So you're ill until I say otherwise. And when you're ill, you have to stay in bed and have your grandmum wait on your hand and foot."

The grin that spread across the girl's face dawned slowly, like sunrise and shone about as brightly. She pecked the woman on the cheek. "Thanks, gran. I mean it. All those things the Doctor used to say about you… they're not…oh nevermind. they're definitely true, every last one of them. But in a good way." She slid off of the bed, tugging her shoes back on and headed for the door. "But I'm telling him you called him a donor," she called behind her brightly.

Clamoring after the girl, Jackie shook a finger. "I don't care if you do!" Continuing on after her granddaughter, Jackie fumbled her way down a spiral stair case, trying to keep up with the exuberance of youth (and regeneration). "Oh, don't tell him that, Violet! He doesn't need to know what I call him… it's just a bit of a private joke…"

At the bottom of the steps, the girl spun around, beaming. "I think you care more than you'd like to let on, huh?" Laughing, she rushed on ahead, turning a corner sharply then disappeared.

Jackie was left standing in a corridor beneath rusted coral arches, noting how much things changed, and how they also managed to always remain the same. That girl would still be the death of her, she just knew it.

XYZ

The Doctor had finally shed his shredded, filthy suit jacket. It had required pealing cloth away from semi-closing wounds, but he'd done it with Rose's help. He'd kicked the thing into a corner, and she worked at pulling torn and frayed strands of green shirt from the wound while he continued to ponder the readings.

Wincing when she managed to dig undershirt out of the cut on his arm, he batted her hand away. "I can't think when you do that!"

Rose took a step back, not offended, per se though perhaps a bit annoyed with the attitude. It had been many years since she'd travelled with the man, but it was amazing how well she remembered his moods. This version of the Doctor was, on the whole, more pleasant, but he was still capable of great annoyance and brooding when driven to it, something that seemed to have been invented and trademarked by his last self. It almost made her fear for which annoying habits of Violet's would now end up having exaggerated to new levels. Remembering the shift in the Doctor's brand of humour, she was also struck with a fear that they might be replaced with something even worse.

Still—she had to smile. He annoyed so easily sometimes. In about thirty seconds he'd be calling her a stupid ape, if she didn't watch it. Which only made her grin still further…which rankled the Doctor just a bit more. She'd seen hissing, wet cats with more love in their eyes. It made her feel like a blushing, giddy nineteen year old again—off to see the universe with some galactic man of mystery whose moods she couldn't even begin to predict.

Oh that time was long gone, but if they were thrown her way, she'd take those fleeting glances out of the corner of her eye at her past—they were comforting memories of simpler times when the universe was a playground and her responsibilities were fewer—or at least simpler. Back when the most troubling thing in her world was trying to trick the Doctor into forgetting (or at least questioning his memory of) their lone drunken escapade. Half a laugh escaped her with that thought… which certainly wasn't helping her cause.

If looks could kill… his face would have at least wounded her…if not for Rose developing a thick skin to certain things ages ago. If she hadn't—she'd never have survived those first few months with him, and every tetchy tangent he'd go on every time something didn't go his way.

The daily shaving ritual usually ended (back in the day) with half an hour spent on life forms. A bit of over-steeped tea, and it'd be a good ten to fifteen minutes on the failures of the second Euro-Asia Union as an endeavor simply because of the president's inability to secure a trade treaty with the fifth moon colony. Little things like him being angry that she'd poked and prodded his wounds (and possibly his pride) didn't even faze her any more.

She'd been hoping that stepping out would give him a touch of perspective; maybe give him a few moments to gather himself together. He'd come back even more fuming than before. Maybe sending him to check on Violet hadn't been the smartest of all moves, but it was the only thing she could think of to get him out of the room.

Rubbing his arm, then moving on to prod the puncture hole beneath his shoulder, the Doctor shook his head, a tiredness creeping in to his features. She couldn't remember seeing him quite so tired. Briefly, Rose wondered if it was an intellectual and emotional weariness or a physical one. "Stuff just can't go nowhere."

Taking a step forward, she crossed her arms again, investigating the read outs, as if they'd make some sort of sense. She'd learned a lot in the intervening years since travelling with the Doctor, but reading the language of his people was not one of them, sadly. "Vaporised?" Rose asked, trying to think of where the Daleks could have gone to.

The Doctor shook his head. "Not vaporised. There was a matter signature in that energy signal. Something got teleported, transmitted, transferred…something. But to nowhere."

Tapping his lip, the Doctor reached deeply into his mind for an answer. Thinking it over for several long moments, he came to an unhappy conclusion. His eyes grew wide. "We're in so much trouble," he declared to his audience of one. "We are in so much trouble I don't even know where to begin… if those things can move freely, in and out of the Void. Hell. How long have they been able to do that?"

Rose shook her head. "They can't do that, can they? I mean, look at how much it took for Torchwood to pull the TARDIS through the Void. They can't just… come and go at will? Can they?" The inner door of the ship opened and they both turned. "Violet—I thought we told you to stay in bed," her mother said a bit too loudly, in her effort not to sound like a harassive, overly concerned parent. Like… Jackie. Oh well—they always say you turn into your mother. Now she knew it was true. All she had to do was wait for the day when Violet abandoned her own child on a boring planet in a strange time for the child's own good, and Rose could laugh and say 'I told you so.' Then the circle of life would be complete.

Unconcerned, the girl shrugged. "I'm tired of sleeping and I'm tired…of being tired. I want something to do."

Looking to the Doctor, Rose indicated that she would defer to his judgment. He certainly had loads more experience in the realm of regeneration. Personally, Rose wanted to pack the girl back off to bed. For oh… another month or so. This impulse was tempered with the overwhelming and motherly desire to grab hold of her child and swear she'd never let go. How the hell had her own mother put up with her for all of those years? Jackie Tyler was a saint.

Sighing, the Doctor ran a hand through his hair. She knew this must be tough for him but really hoped he'd be able to provide Violet some kind of support—Rose had been through this once with the Doctor, so as an outsider she knew what to expect…but only the Doctor had been through this himself. "It depends. Mostly on how much you remember."

XYZ

Jack didn't have to go very far to find himself; basically he just tried to figure out where he'd be, if he were an evil genius and in charge of a slightly evil secret organization. He did happen to know a thing or two about the being in charge of the slightly evil secret organization, so he only had to work on guessing how he'd behave if he were less benevolent towards the universe at large. He was certainly jaded enough to be evil—well, of course, Ianto thought he was pretty monstrous. But Jack had to pat himself on the back for having some kind of altruism buried deep down in his soul, because he wasn't a megalomaniac. He didn't even play the stock market with his advanced knowledge of the future. He might not be a good person, but he was better than when he'd started out freelancing.

The floor with the command centre was fairly secure, but no one questioned his presence. He was, after all, the guy on top of the food chain. No one bothered or dared to question the kid's presence—Jack suspected that he could have probably brought a turkey and an emu onto the floor with him and no one would have batted an eye.

They stopped just out of the command room when Jack saw himself inside. He managed to deter a few people who'd been intent on going inside—if they went in they'd certainly take note of the Two Jack Syndrome that had suddenly started going around, and that'd just be bad.

He leaned in toward Greg. "Go in there." The kid looked at him like he was crazy. "Tell him you're from R & D. Tell him you think you've found a way to crack the lock on the TARDIS. Mumble on about phase shifting technology and trans-dimensional locking devices. I'll come running right out here."

Looking up at him, Greg arched an eyebrow. "When you say 'I,' do you mean you-you, or him you?"

Jack made a face. "Don't be smart. You know what I mean. Just get in there. You're the one that came here after I told you not to, and then decided to 'help me' to death in the TARDIS… you can get in there and get the other me out here."

The kid still had a look of protest about him, but he went—slowly. Hand pressed against the glass door, he swiped the access card that Jack had pilfered for this very purpose on the way up here then entered the control room, which seemed to have been largely unaffected from the power overload that had seemed to affect the rest of the building.

There were three rows of computer terminals facing a wall of screens—it looked like mission control. It was also just the sort of place Jack would have set up, if his ego happened to be that large. Well, ok, his ego was that large. But there were some things he just didn't try to do with Torchwood Three… he still wanted people to do little things like continue taking him seriously. Having a common enemy in the office might be good (in its own sort of way) for morale, but people not thinking he was completely mad was more productive, especially when he regularly asked his people to do something completely mad.

He could see figures and maps on the large wall of monitors (at least fifty-two inches, every single one of them—it was a multi-media wet dream and he'd never hear the end of it if Toshiko caught wind of this—even reminding her that this was an alternate dimension in addition to the future wouldn't even save him). One looked like it was charting Void-related activity. It was a bit impressive that they had anything capable of analyzing any data retrieved from a rift, but it was also a tad on the frightening side. Sure his people kept tabs on the rift and any anomalous readings, but this was above and beyond what they'd managed—this was a direct scientific charting and graphing of a nothingness. It was as bizarre as it was unlikely—and yet, it appeared to be so—at least as far as Jack could tell.

Stealing another glance from the doorway where he was hidden, Jack saw the kid walk semi-purposefully to the front of the room, and to Jack's other self, who was manipulating the three dimensional model on the middle screen with a small hand-held device. He didn't know what the other Jack was looking for, but he was dead serious about it.

That other Jack spoke with two other people, issuing various orders before he acknowledged the kid's presence.

Jack was fully prepared to watch something painful transpire—he couldn't imagine a kid as awkward as Gregory Sheel Patel actually managing to get through a conversation with an evil version of himself without things going moderately horribly, or at least there being some strange stammering, looking at the ground and possibly some running away in avoidance.

However, it was nice to see that he was wrong—the kid actually managed to not drop a muffin in his drawers in the face of danger. Of course, the boy had travelled with the Doctor for a year—it was entirely reasonable that Greg could handle himself. Or that he could at least fake it when necessary. That was the thing he'd learned in his time as a freelancer—you didn't need to know everything, you just needed to pretend so hard that you believed it yourself.

The kid wasn't gawky or physically awkward—he seemed to have escaped that stage, or passed through it with flying colors. There was just something about him that made him seem… uncomfortable in his own skin. The universe was a dangerous place for people like that. Fortunately the kid at least seemed able to hold himself together—or so Jack gathered from the manner in which his young partner in crime was carrying himself—and from the added fact that Jack's counterpart actually moved to follow the kid out of the control centre.

A wave of pleasure rippled through him—he knew that any version of himself would be hard pressed to ignore entry into a TARDIS, which were known to be the most magnificent ships in the universe—and he bounced on his heels for but a second before other concerns overtook him. In a bout of last moment nerves, Jack rubbed his sweaty palms together. No dress rehearsal for this one, unfortunately—he was about to try to outwit himself.

Why did he always get into situations that they never bothered covering in the Time Agency academy?

XYZ

Just as they were about to haul the last piece of Dalek that they could find (other scraps had already been found by the police and by Torchwood groups that refused to acknowledge their existence—they'd have to try to get those back later, before they could be used for evil—well, ok, more evil), Mickey heard something shift in the back of the flatbed.

He hoped for a full second and a half that it was just precariously placed metal scraping against some other piece of metal with the force of gravity, the previous rumbling of the vehicle, and, like… whatever else would make twisted metal move around like that. Of course, Mickey had been at this for far too long. He knew that Murphy's Law was the only law the universe seemed to abide by on a consistent basis. Therefore, since anything that could go wrong would go wrong, the sound of metal shifting behind him was a very, VERY bad thing.

Some day Mickey was going to get involved in an alien situation that involved loveable, peaceful teddy bears.

Well, he could dream, at least. Everybody needed something, after all, and he didn't have time for fantasy sports leagues. Finally meeting Ewoks and having a feast with dancing and drums around a bonfire without having to go through that whole uncomfortable fighting the evil empire thing first was his idea of a day-dreaming good time.

'Course, it didn't help (or at least bode well) that the there was no Return of the Jedi in this reality—A New Hope bombed, and while it became a cult hit when it finally came to DVD, there was no original revenue to make sequels. Slowly he turned around. Sticking over the edge of the back gate was the blue glowing business end of an eye stalk, twitching back and forth. Mickey wasn't sure if it was the shuddering of death throes or nervousness (something he wasn't sure these creatures were capable of—that was—unless you mentioned the Doctor). He also didn't want to find out. "Pete!" he called out.

The man turned round from the cab of the vehicle, looking at him through the glass. The unconcerned curiosity on the older man's face was about all Mickey needed to tell him that Pete didn't see it.

And it just might be the death of him—it wasn't just an ugly, lonely eyestalk poking over the edge of the junk heap, now there was also a jittery and slightly phallic death ray pointed at him. Mickey really didn't want to figure out whether it was functional or not.

It was always a very rare day, indeed, when Mickey Smith got what he wanted, though. So he did the only 'sensible' thing he could think of in the situation. "Pete!" He hollered again. "Pete, get out of here! Now!"

Sensible solutions were for people who had the luxuries of such things, Mickey decided as he walked toward the lively eyestalk. "You there… Yeah you—I'm talking to you." He pointed a finger right in the visual center. "You think I'm scared of you? You stupid piece of junk. You think I'm scared of—scrap? So what's your big plan, anyway? Pretend you're dead then just start killin' again? I reckon you're as hard up as you look, right now."

Pete was slowly backing away from the cab, keeping an eye on the situation. When the remaining Daleks had disappeared, they'd ditched the only marginally effectual weapons—this scrap was heavy enough without having to lug around another who knew how much weight while attempting to haul awkwardly shaped and weighted bits and pieces hither and thither. Oh well. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Best laid plans of mice and men, and all that.

When the thing didn't respond, Mickey just figured that was it. One of the empties wasn't as dead as they'd thought it was or one of the 'real' Daleks had managed to repair itself (probably cannibalizing—quite literally—parts from other Daleks). Neither seemed like a good answer though, somehow. Probably because of just how little was left of all of these things—once the personal shielding gave way, a Dalek death ray did a crazy amount of damage to other Daleks. They hadn't found any scraps bigger than two feet by two feet among all the hunks they'd already collected.

It was a little something that he meant to file away for later, granted there was a later. It wasn't like he wanted Torchwood, or any other organization for that matter, running around with Dalek death rays, but if they could actually be used in defense against the creatures?

Hopefully some good would come out of this situation… of course, every time Mickey started dealing in hope, he remembered why he gave it up in the first place. It was just easier on the nerves to expect the worst, then be surprised when you woke up alive the next morning with the world still in one piece. Jake called him a pessimist. He couldn't imagine why. "Well?" Mickey yelled. "What're you waiting for? Do it!"

The stalk stopped moving. The slightly cracked lens twisted as it focused on Mickey, the blue exterior light bored into him, as if the creature were trying to read his soul. It made Mickey feel a bit naked. "I…wait." The mechanical voice hesitated. "I…wait for the Doctor. You will take me to him."

It didn't seem like the thing was in a position to make demands. Especially since there didn't seem to be much of it left. Mickey wasn't even sure if the death ray was functional. "And why would I go and do a thing like that? Assuming, of course, that I even know this 'Doctor' of yours."

The eye swiveled questioningly. Great, Mickey thought, he was anthropomorphising evil eye lenses. "The Void is open. His protégé passed through with no harm—others followed. We come and go as we please. All things move through the Void like creatures in the sea. He will not stand for that." The last was said smugly—proudly. As if the Dalek were declaring Check.

Oh great-now they were getting sarcastic, in addition to clever. True, the Doctor wouldn't stand for that. But a snide Dalek hinting at how it was going to give it an advantage?

It made Mickey have waking dreams about drinks with little umbrellas in them for real this time. Lovely icy drinks in large glasses with salted rims to be consumed on tropic beaches with pure white sand that looked like warm, baking snow (which was, he thought, the only way to put away a drink with a paper umbrella inside of it). He'd sit in one of those wooden beach chairs, his face hidden from the sun by one of those books that people took with them to the ocean…only he wouldn't actually read it. He'd just use it as a teeny umbrella for his face while he baked in the cancer-causing sun. Maybe he'd even get a raging case of sunburn. Difficult task with his skin tone, but not impossible. It would mean spending a hell of a lot of time in his chair of choice on his beach of choice, but he felt very up to the task at this moment.

He was exhausted, hungry, sore… and this Dalek was playing games with him. It was official—Mickey hated the universe. And he couldn't be entirely certain, but from what he'd gleaned from what was left of the Dalek, Violet appeared to be both the cause and the solution to the problem with the Void.

TBC…


	12. Chapter 12

Standard disclaimers apply. Thanks milliondy billiondies to Rosesbud, the fastest, bestest beta in the universe. Fer sher.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 12

XYZ

Rose could tell that the Doctor was only being indulgent in her hopes of triggering something within Violet's incomplete memory, but he let her look through his findings. Asking her nicely to go back to bed, or to sit this one out already hadn't ended well. Rose's daughter was convinced that 'getting back to work' was the only solution to her current situation—it was entirely irrelevant that the girl didn't remember what said 'work' was, or how to perform these tasks.

She was hell-bent on saving the universe, even if she couldn't remember her own name. It was tough to tell if she was a workaholic or in total avoidance mode.

Great, Rose thought to herself as the girl looked through the endless sets of data in a language that was only meaningful to the girl and the Doctor. What if Violet had regenerated into the type of person that works herself to death in an effort to avoid dealing with… well…anything unpleasant or uncomfortable.

Of course—Rose hadn't been around her daughter in so very long, there was no way for her to tell if this was a new personality trait, or simply a new revising of an old difficulty. Well, if it was a habit already instilled in her, she'd learned from the best. If avoidance was an Olympic sport, the Doctor would have the gold.

Violet's brow furrowed in thought, but her gaze was distant, reticent. It was like… she was grappling with something of a spiritual nature when she looked at the numbers. When she spoke, it was to no one in particular, so far as Rose could discern. The girl's voice simply drifted up into the air, like steamy breath on a winter morning. "This is going to sound… never mind. I ought to just say it. I think I have some sort of control over this."

The Doctor shook his head, gingerly folding his arms over his battered chest. Rose noted the way he was putting distance between them…which just didn't…feel right. He'd spent the last nine years with the girl (which was longer than Rose had been with either of them—it made her the proverbial third wheel in this relationship, but she'd manage). The Doctor had taught the girl everything she knew about the universe. Why was he closing himself off to her? The one person who could possibly have a prayer of understanding what a complete reinvention of self must be like for the girl. Could he really be that…emotionally retarded?

Of course, the answer to that question would probably be an award-winning psychological paper cataloging all of the various complexes and neuroses the Doctor carried around. Stepping between them, Rose pointed to a readout that meant nothing to her. "Ok, so what is it then? What do we have?"

Rose figured she had better challenge him on this… before he did something really stupid regarding his relationship with someone who was not in control of her faculties enough to understand exactly why she was on the receiving end of…well, the Doctor being the Doctor (he had a funny habit of doing that—damn him).

The Doctor took a step back, eyeing Rose as if she had suddenly become the enemy too. Rose was half-tempted to point out that she wasn't the adversary, she was simply asking a question, but fortunately the Doctor backed down and at least expounded. "Look—Violet… You're not responsible for this."

Unfamiliar blue eyes never losing their thoughtful seriousness, Violet shook her head. "Not what I said. I think, somehow, if I can remember how—damn it. I hate this. It's there—RIGHT THERE—and I can't get to it. It's like being on the outside of a locked filing cabinet. What I'm trying to say is… I can do something about this. At least I think I can. That's one thing I can remember. Being so sure about that."

Seeing the Doctor about to interrupt, no doubt asking exactly what and how, she shrugged in a self-depreciating manner. "And those would be the questions to ask, then. I don't know what can be done… just that I should somehow be able to do it. It involves the Void. And green gelatin. I don't know where the gelatin comes into this, but it's important."

Looking away in frustration, the Doctor grabbed Rose's arm, pulling her aside. He got within a inch of her ear before whispering: "can you get her back to bed, or something? She's of no use here." The girl was glaring at them though, indicating the secret conversion wasn't as exclusive as the Doctor believed it to be.

He simply regarded her back with a similar intensity, entirely unabashed. His gaze pierced her and she actually took a full step back, towards the TARDIS inner door. Basically, what he was saying was that he thought Violet was wasting his time.

Sometimes, Rose thought that the Doctor believed he had the corner market on issues (and solutions, for that matter). "You know," Rose dared to point out, "she's standing right here. She might take exception to you talking about her like she isn't even here." Of course, it wasn't like Rose wasn't doing the same. But it was different—Rose was the girl's mother, which opened up whole new depths of permissible forms of child-torture to her. Still—she'd just like it very much if he'd knock it the hell off. Rose had her own things to worry about.

This was HER daughter. HER daughter had just up and changed herself. HER daughter had looked right at her not even an hour ago, and told Rose that she wasn't recognised, much less loved. From that perspective, Rose almost didn't care about Daleks invading her adopted Earth, or that they weren't supposed to be able to escape from the Void, let alone have a skeleton key for easy entrances and exits. She just wanted to worry exclusively about her little girl for a few minutes, universe be damned.

The Doctor sighed. "Look—I just mean…" But he didn't finish the thought. Apparently explaining himself was just a bit too much at the moment. Shaking his head, he simply looked at each of them in turn, and then went back to the readouts, as if they would somehow hold some new meaning or solution that they hadn't contained thus far.

Violet looked up at the white, coffered ceiling, clearly as unimpressed with him as he was with her. "I'm not tired, and I'm not daft. I know I have the answer in here, somewhere." A finger tapped the side of her head. "I just don't know where jelly and marshmallows fit in. Not big marshmallows—the little ones that don't roast well."

She seemed to sense how ridiculous it sounded, because her mouth promptly clamped closed, and she looked to Rose for some sort of support, or possibly a bailing out. It was kind of amazing that even after so long, Violet wanted to side with Rose. Or possibly more importantly-Violet wanted Rose to side with her.

In an ideal world, she'd have had the luxury of dealing with this in a rational manner on its own terms, instead of in the middle of a Dalek attempt to take over the Earth. Rose wasn't an over-achiever, but since meeting the Doctor, even her mundane had become extraordinary. Nothing would probably ever happen to her in a sane manner ever again—it just wasn't possible, apparently.

Rose regarded the two of them for a moment—a sorry pair indeed. The Doctor was leaning over the console, the sleeves of his torn and bloody shirt rolled to the elbow. She didn't think it was possible for his neck and shoulder muscles to be any tighter as he attempted to work on the problem—but Rose was fairly certain that if it was conceivable he'd find a way—or he'd just snap, like an over-wound child's toy. Violet was engaged in the active ignoring of the Doctor—looking at anything and everything in the small control room but him.

They had travelled together for nine years—and now they weren't talking. It was a touch sad, and a touch ironic.

Violet probably didn't realise just how much she was like the Doctor… even her regeneration had to be the result of something gone insanely wrong and been followed on the heels by something else they could have all done without.

Not meaning to laugh didn't really stop Rose. The first rasping rush of undisguised and unrepentant chuckling slipped past her lips before she could do anything about it and in a millisecond she had two angry Time Lords glaring at her as if she were attacking both of them personally by the sounds issuing from behind her tightly clenched teeth.

Folding her arms over her chest in a very Doctor-esque manner, Rose stole a guilty glance at both of them. "What? It's funny. It is. You two are both completely ridiculous. You," she looked to the Doctor, whose eyes were still boring into her with all the conviction of a man equally annoyed and worried. "Should really stop acting like she's a menace. Ok, she has no recollection of anything important. She's still…" a tired sigh dripping with pent up physical and mental exhaustion escaped Rose. "Never mind. And you." Pointing at Violet, she shook her head. "He's just that way. Don't mind him. I'm sure you'll remember soon enough just how much of a…well…how difficult he's capable of being. And one more thing… It's admirable that you want to help, but maybe you SHOULD take a rest."

Violet's mouth opened then closed again. She obviously wanted to complain, to protest, maybe to explain why that just wasn't so, but she remained silent. Her lips spread into a thin line of disapproval, and she watched both of these…people. The girl watched them watching her, conflict flashing across her eyes as she was held caught by their gaze.

Rose did feel bad for Violet—up until this point, the girl's life had been ruled by either her mother or the Doctor, and now it probably felt like they were ganging up on her. That was—if she even remembered her relationships with them before all of this had happened. This is why Rose wasn't surprised in the least when the girl made a pained (and slightly disappointed) face, shook her head then left.

Rubbing her temples, Rose yawned. "One of us needs to go after her," she informed the Doctor, even though she was pretty certain of how this was going to work itself out.

His eyes met hers, and he didn't voice the question that was so obvious to her that it was practically thick and hanging in the air like steam after a summer rain. He wanted to know just why the hell someone 'had' to go after her.

Rose decided to just get on with it. Especially since it didn't appear, from the haggard looking shadows under the Doctor's eyes or the aggrieved look twisting the muscles around his bristled jaw line that the Doctor was prepared, in any sense of the word, to deal with a changed Violet. "Because she's going off to do something stupid," Rose elaborated, heading for the ship's entrance.

She knew that she'd be the one to go off and save her child from herself, so it was hardly worth belabouring the matter. The Doctor had changed himself…how many times now? But he couldn't deal with Violet's transformation?

Winding through the corridor and up a rusted and worn spiral staircase, Rose contemplated that small fact—he had to have dealt with the regenerations of friends or family. Why was he so totally unprepared for Violet's regeneration? Rose didn't like it, but she accepted it (as if she'd had a whole lot of choice in the matter—what had been done was now done, it wasn't as if her lodging a protest would somehow make the fact of her daughter's regeneration less so).

She also still saw Violet in there, amongst the sudden polished edges and mature-looking façade. That was her daughter in there—nothing would change that Violet was her child—not even rewritten DNA or complete genetic reformation. It didn't matter that she no longer saw even the slightest bit of herself in the girl, though there were, surprisingly some small bits of her previous Doctor there, in the chin and sparkling blue eyes.

Rose wasn't sure of the Doctor's thoughts on religion or faith or the spiritual (though, of course, it really didn't matter), but Rose knew one thing for certain when she looked into her daughter's changed eyes—Violet carried a piece of Rose's soul with her at all times. That would not be crushed or diminished by any sort of physical changes. The soul transcended that. It wasn't so much a religious belief, even though Rose maintained it with a religious fervour. But she knew it was true—she accepted that she was as much a part of her mum as Violet was of her. The way the Doctor was… well, never mind. If he didn't wish to discuss it—then she wouldn't even bother with the idea.

An exasperated screech of a complaint issued from a mere two feet away. "Well, you've gone and done it now."

Rose stopped dead, almost running right into her mother in her haste to find Violet. "What've I done now?" She might as well just get the accusation portion of the exercise over with. It'd shorten this encounter in the long run.

The Doctor always took it so very personally that Jackie Tyler had criminalised him, but it was just her mother's way—blame existed solely to be placed upon the parties whom Jackie deemed to be guilty. There was a certain elegant simplicity to that type of worldview (no matter how insane it happened to be).

And truthfully—usually it WAS the Doctor's fault, in some fashion or another, when the woman was in the process of blaming him. Really—the man could find trouble in an empty paper bag. He'd certainly done it to himself, bringing Rose back a year late, among other crimes.

One thing he never seemed to notice, that maybe he should have—him being an allegedly superior being and all, was that Rose was perfectly capable of being the object of her mother's ire. Massaging the muscle than ran from her temple to her jaw, she asked again just what she was guilty of when her mother failed to answer the first time.

Jackie turned slightly, pointing down the hall, toward the control room. "She came storming up here saying she was going to prove something—god only knows what she's trying to prove, and which one of you two idiots she's determined to prove it to. What the hell did you two do to my grandbaby?"

Lacking the patience to put her mother's mind at ease, Rose simply walked past Jackie, shaking her head in disgust. "Well, the Doctor is being the Doctor, isn't that enough? I'm going to find her." And she needed to make it quick, really. Before the Daleks came back, or whatever evil plan they'd devised actually came to fruition.

XYZ

There was something a bit odd about pulling a gun on himself. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing another reflection entirely.

At the back of the communications wiring closet into which he'd been lured, the other Jack stood with his spine pressed to the wall, looking much more relaxed than a man ought to look in his position—there being a gun pointed directly at his head. Jack was too far away from his counterpart for the man to disarm him, but he wasn't far enough away to miss. Not that he made a habit of it anyway—but they both knew that any headshot that was made would result in the termination of the unfortunate party on the other end of the blast.

For Jack's part, he was simply trying to stay away from his other self. There was the whole part where something may implode if he came into physical contact with himself. Usually that unfortunate little consequence was reserved for time travelling situations in a single universe, but Jack hardly wanted to use that moment to find out just how catholic that particular consequence was. Jack also knew he didn't want to get into a tussle with himself. It was a fairly good bet that they were almost, if not entirely evenly matched, so any physical confrontation was likely to be long and inevitably fruitless.

It'd also be entirely embarrassing were he actually to be disarmed by his own self. The kid was behind him, waiting on the other side of the supply closet door, ready and willing to provide additional assistance. And it wasn't that Jack didn't appreciate it—an ally was an ally, especially in the uniquely uncharted territory of a parallel world.

It was just… well, Jack just questioned how good the kid would be in an actual life or death situation. He'd like to avoid finding out, if at all possible. Life and death situations were really an unfortunate and slightly uncalled for way to find out who your friend were and failure was guaranteed to end badly. There seemed to be some sort of rule for that.

A smile slowly pealed back on Jack's face. "Gotcha." He wiggled the gun, seeming to enjoy the moment. "So now, we need a master plan, which is just a lot of effort. Really. I'll have to think up some way to torture you that you won't know how to beat, which is going to be painful. Lets just face it, we're evenly matched. You should just let this one go and tell me what's up. Why would I sell out to the Daleks? "

And Jack wasn't a hypocrite at all. Oh yeah, mostly because Jack was so capable of leaving well enough alone. Jack wouldn't have had half the problems that now infected his life, if he was just capable of taking a step back and thinking before he acted. Ever. At all.

That same snide sort of grin spread across the face of his counterpart that Jack had worn but moments before. "Why? So that you can clear everything up? Set me back on the right path? If you're me, then you know that I'm doing the right thing. Or the closest thing to the right thing that I can think of."

Jack actually hesitated with that. The other man had a decent point. Or at least the condition for the possibility seemed to exist that a point could potentially be made. Why would Jack—any version of Jack—do such a thing? Why would any version of Jack ever engage in this new level of subterfuge? Did he honestly think that it would work out? That it COULD work out?

He nodded, relaxing just a tiny bit, but he also never lowered the gun, however, and was entirely on his guard, every sense just waiting for his other self to try something. "Alright," he ordered calmly, matching the tone of the man pressed against the rear wall of the tiny room. "Explain it to me. Make me believe you."

The man with his back to the cinderblock wall which was painted a dark, dismal grey like an unfortunate winters' day took a small step forward at this, which set Jack on edge, telling him tat he'd better be prepared for some sort of physical confrontation, should it come to that. He hoped it wouldn't—it was very tough to imagine getting the upper hand in a battle of strength with someone more similar to him than (quite possibly) a twin. This other man WAS him.

Gesturing with the gun, Jack persuaded the other man to remain where he was. In a move to demonstrate complicity, the man held up both hands in front of himself. Upon anyon else, it would have been a defensive gesture. Somehow this other man wore it like an instructor or a school teacher, who was about to spell it out for the slow children at home.

The other man's grin wasn't quite so…wreaking of smarm. He seemed no pleased with himself now, it was simply functional to let Jack know that he wasn't entirely in control of the conversation any longer. "What do you think would happen to me—you, I guess we could say—US. This world. Everyone around us. If the Daleks took hold here? It's bad enough that they appear here at random intervals, seeming to come and go as they please…but I know what they're capable of. I'm doing what I have to do for this world to survive. I've don what you would do to survive. "

That statement made Jack hesitate. He had done a lot of things in his life that hadn't been wholesome or pleasant, but had been necessary. Could he have misinterpreted this situation? Of course, threatening to behead someone because they destroyed your toy Daleks wasn't exactly the sign of a good guy. "What did you do to the girl? It killed her—whatever it was. She's just a kid, why drag her into this? Why drag her mother into this?"

It was a somewhat fiendish half-smile that spread across the other Jack's lips, as if being cruel were just a perk of the job. "Tyler dragged herself into this. She's been watched by the directors since she got here. Her daughter is a special project that we've invested a lot of time and money in. Whether she wants to play ball or not is irrelevant. Believe me, it hasn't been easy keeping the true nature of her job from her for all of these years. She's been very close to figuring it out—we've had to give her just enough of the truth to keep her away from…the facts, as it were."

The counterpart took another step forward again, some confidence in his movement. "Now you can either let me go and help me, or we can continue with this…interesting business and you can watch this world fall to the Daleks. What'll it be, 'Jack?' Giving up your obviously very black and white views of right and wrong, and help me get the job done? Or watching the Daleks obliterate my world before they disappear again into the Void and figure out how to come out again on your side?"

TBC…


	13. Chapter 13

Standard disclaimers. Thanks again to Rosesbud for being the bestest beta in the world. I'm glad she finds my isms amusing ;)

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter Thirteen

XYZ

After another moment of staring at the same facts and figures that hadn't changed in the last fifteen minutes, the Doctor slowly raised his head from the console. Rose had gone after her. It was for the best. Violet needed someone. He'd meant to be that someone, but really—it should be Rose. The child's mother—not someone with a questionable ability to do anything resembling comforting or consoling. The Doctor couldn't deal with this…thing and with… her. It. The whole lot of it. 

With a shuddering breath, he forced the thought of leaving the girl to regenerate entirely reliant upon her own devices out of his head and focused on the situation he had a prayer of doing something about, slim though it might be. Thinking the problem over, he scratched at the wound under his collarbone, picking more fabric made hard and crusty with dried blood out of the battered, broken flesh.

It really wasn't healing at all, was it? Well, it'd never start closing itself up if he didn't get it clear of debris. Violet's turns at playing Nurse Ratchet were good for some things, he supposed—if he was actually missing the bubbling waterfalls of peroxide that usually heralded her attempts at healing open wounds. Oh well. There wasn't really time to dwell on what wasn't, he supposed.

Ok, so the Daleks could come and go as they pleased. But how? Were they able to open and close these rifts at will? It was bad enough when the Daleks had achieved time travel—it precipitated the Time Wars. But if they could open holes in dimensions at the drop of a hat… It wasn't just all of time and space he'd have to worry about—him, one lone Time Lord—but every single level of reality layered one on top of the other. 

This had to stop in the here and now. There was no one left to do battle with these creatures, if he failed. He was the last line of defense. If he failed…the whole of time and space would pay the price.

Had a hole opened up between this world and the Void, then had it been propped opened, like with support beams in a mine? Was it a permanent fixture in time and space? The Doctor dared to hope that it was. That was something he could find and close. The sort of anomalies that had been popping up in his native dimension were closable, but difficult to predict and time-consuming to find.

Of course, who the hell knew what Torchwood's actual involvement was? They could be maintaining the breach; they could have created the breach… They could have been pawns the entire time in whatever game that had been set afoot. That information might be helpful towards the end of closing the breach, but that was his ultimate goal.

That was probably something else that would need to be sorted, in order for this situation to resolve itself. He punched in a few more figures and started a new process, and then sighed, turning away from the console as it did its work. Exhausted, jittery hands raked through his hair yet again, as he tried keep his mind focused on one thing, which was always a hell of a lot harder than it looked. Especially with a thousand things going on about him.

Rose wasn't happy with him. But what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't solve the problem with the Daleks and solve the problem with Violet…even though the two were hopelessly intertwined. And right now the Daleks issue was taking precedence—this whole world, or a girl's feelings? The choice seemed relatively simple to him.

Or at least the part of him that knew just how unwise it was to become emotionally ensnared in a single time or place or person had an easy time with this decision. The part of him that used to tuck the freshly bathed girl into bed and read ridiculous and repetitive stories to her wanted desperately to ask the Daleks if they couldn't just hold off on the insidious take-over or domination or extermination plot until tomorrow.

It was frustrating, now and again—all of time and space at his fingertips, but he couldn't just halt the passage of time now that he was caught in this stream and deal with Violet in a sane, calm and rational manner. Oh like anything in his life had ever worked like that. He might as well ask the universe to stop expanding. It was always one crisis to the next, and in most circumstances, he preferred it that way. He just needed to… let go of this moment.

Besides—eventually Violet would remember. Eventually she'd remember what it was she'd forgotten to tell him… she'd remember how things were, the way they'd always worked together, and how, sometimes, tough and emotionally unpleasant decisions had to be made for the sake of time, space and the universe. Personal… situations couldn't take priority over the greater good. It was one of the 'rules' he'd instilled in her from a very young age. 

She'd eventually remember, he consoled himself. She'd remember and she'd know why he'd behaved as he had. Forgiving him was optional, he supposed. But at least she'd understand the why of it all.

Regeneration was tough…you never knew what you'd end up with, or how it would go. He'd told Rose before—you could be up and about in five minutes, you could be in a coma for a week having fond dreams about shoes. Considering the battering her mind had taken prior to the regeneration, things were going along splendidly. A touch of amnesia was preferable to her being a babbling idiot, or worse. In the next day or so, she'd be back to a status quo. Granted, it would be different than her previous status quo, but it will have been reached and maintained. It would all come back to her, and she'd hate him a little bit less. He hoped.

Of course, all of this was very much dependant upon his ability to figure out how to seal the hole in the Void. And if he could somehow manage to get home again, after all was said and done, that'd be rather nice as well. Of course… the company was good. He could think of worse places to be stranded. Still—he didn't belong here.

This was going to be tough. The last times this universe had collided with his own, it had been an overlay of the two realities with bleed through occurring at a single weak point. The current situation was… unique. He sensed it was because of Violet. She was the thread between this world and his own. Somehow, instead of forging a direct path between a slice in the realities, she'd created some circuitous loop through the Void. Leave it to Violet to find the most difficult way to do something, and then find some way to obfuscate it just a tad more on top of that. Maybe, if he gave her the opportunity, she could tie time and space into intricate little knots…just to add to the difficulty level a smidge more. Because, really—this was JUST impossible.

It complicated things—well, no—Violet complicated things, possibly irrevocably. He'd been pondering this problem for the last ten minutes—it was why he'd been so short with both Violet and Rose. He needed to somehow get himself to be on that side of the Void and still close the tear on this side. OH yeah, and he needed all of the Daleks to be in the Void when he did it. NO problem, right?

Another day in the life of a Time Lord. 'Course, if he didn't figure this out, it might be one of his last.

XYZ

Still standing a few feet from the tailgate, Mickey folded his arms over his chest. Trying to figure out what the thing was about, he looked at the evil eyestalk critically. "Alright. Say I bring this Doctor person here," he began, figuring continued denial and stalling would be his best way to gather more information.

If nothing else, it was drawing the attention of the semi-functional refuse heap away from Pete, which increased their odds of both survival and success exponentially, every step that he took away from them.

Pete was still slowly backing away, a critical glare making it apparent that he was doing something he'd really rather not (of course, that was life as a grownup, Mickey conceded). All Mickey could do was nod, letting him know everything was all right. It wasn't exactly ok, but things seemed to be relatively stable…for the moment at least. It was probably all that he could hope for at this point. What it came down to was that Mickey just had to do this. No getting around it, really.

The lens swiveled a bit, seeming to question what Mickey was on about. He continued. "Say I get this Doctor person here. What happens then? If he's as smart as you say, then he'll figure out a way to kill a broken Dalek in about three seconds flat." Which was probably being generous, despite the Doctor's improvisational abilities. Still, he was trying to make a point, here.

The broken bits of Dalek regarded him for a moment. "We will destroy him. And the apprentice." It was said is if it were the most logical course of action. Then again—to a Dalek, it probably was.

With that in mind, it was weird to hear a weird word, well—it was more of a concept, really, such as apprentice come out of the speaker grill of a Dalek. They weren't the most creative creatures in the universe (but what they lacked in creativity, they made up for in ruthlessness, cunning and intelligence—in those circumstances it was fairly easy to get on without imagination), but whenever this one said 'apprentice,' all Mickey could think about was the sorcerer's apprentice in Fantasia, with the giant mouse and the dancing brooms. 

That was another movie that had bombed in this reality—no one here had any taste, Mickey was convinced. Football was also for crap here, which made him wonder if there was some kind of balance that needed to be maintained somewhere. But that wasn't the point. They regarded Violet with a respect usually afforded to mythical or legendary figures. 

Mickey wondered if there was a way to use that against the Daleks, if it happened to be true. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he made it clear that he wasn't going anywhere or moving to comply with the Dalek's wishes in any way. He wasn't sure how…active the thing was (basically how capable it was of blowing him to smithereens)…but he wasn't going to show fear. 

Any sort of leverage that he possessed would promptly dry up if he showed any sign of weakness. "And if I don't? You're a scrap heap. What can you do to me, if I don't play the part of your lackey?" Well, he could end up getting shot and killed. But hey, you don't get anything without risking anything. 

Besides…Pete had made it around the corner. He was out of sight, and if Mickey could stall, hold things up, whatever…he had a chance of Pete coming back with something big, ugly and with a lot of firepower.

The thing's ocular appendage twisted, snidely, if Mickey could bestow personality traits upon hunks of metal and glass. "We will take you with us."

Mickey took a full step back from the flatbed, trying to put distance between himself and the creature. Just what in the hell was that supposed to mean? "With you?" To where? Of course, did he really want to know? Well, ok, he wanted to know. He just didn't want to acquire this knowledge through first-hand experience.

Metal creaked again, making a grinding noise. The hesitating, mechanical voice confirmed. "With us."

XYZ

Violet wondered if there was anything more lovely in the entire universe than this. She couldn't imagine it. And certainly…she couldn't imagine why anyone would ever stop. Her only problem with the whole thing was that his hands wouldn't travel up further. They could… she wouldn't be opposed to that in any way, shape or form…despite it being questionably appropriate to do so in a semi-public area.

His warm, firm hands were gripping the small of her back, beneath her jumper, and she just wanted them to go up…higher. There were whole bits of her that had a hollow, aching desire to be touched that left her taking shallow breaths, biting back moans in her effort to be discrete. 

This was far better than just plain old kissing. His mouth was so hot on hers, his chest and legs so firm against her, crushing her up against the cupboard door, his neck so fleshy and muscled and alive beneath her hands as she pulled him closer…

There was only one thing that could possibly be better than kissing him like this…and god…she wanted it. She'd never understood 'it,' or people's fascination with it… but bloody hell…she'd probably have him right here, were they not just barely hidden by the alcove that lead directly into a busy hallway. 

Every bit of her was on fire—her senses were already crackling with an almost galvanic regenerative energy in addition to the simple novelty of being new—even the smell of sweat mingling with the lingering remains of his soap was intoxicating, like some kind of opiate hanging heavily in the air. The feel of his skin beneath her hands made her palms ache with the need for more of him. He tasted tea and honey, and her tongue wanted more, as if she had some thirst that could only be sated by him. His heartbeat was the only sound in her ears.

Her other senses, which always played in the background like a radio, were silenced. There was no annoying turn of the earth beneath her feet, there was no time, no space, no place or zone. There was only him…his lips, his hands…his mind pressing up so closely against hers…she could read it, if she dared. Or she could just let him do what he was doing…as it was driving her too mad to even look in his head. That was fine too.

When his thumb brushed against the side of her stomach, she almost trembled visibly beneath his touch. She'd wondered, a few minutes ago why anyone would ever stop doing this—eating and sleeping were unnecessary things by comparison, but then he did that, and she wondered by anyone would ever do such things—the swirling mix of want and need and desire coupled with the heady sensations pouring through her made her think she'd die again, if there was any more or it got any better.

She'd come up here and found him because of something…some reason that seemed very distant and unimportant right now. Greg's lips did that to her. They made her forget what century and solar system she was in…

His mouth was suddenly on her throat, teeth grazing the soft flesh beneath her ear and she trembled. This was the weak in the knees thing people always talked about—she was certainly feeling it. She felt like they were going to give out on her. It was only the heavy pressure of Greg's chest against her that was keeping her upright. 

Which was why, when the door behind her opened, she fell through, flat onto her backside. 

She hit the ground, visibly shaken by being parted from him, the intense sensations being suddenly cut-off. For a moment she was unsteady and almost felt sick, like she was going through some kind of sensory withdraw. Lust was a dangerous thing, she decided. Glorious…but dangerous.

Looking up at the figure of Captain Jack, hands on his hips, she gave a weak smile and felt herself flushing terribly red. Oh that was embarrassing. What was even worse was it was the first time she'd felt like her old self—tripping over her own two feet or landing on something awkwardly…stumbling, quite literally, into trouble. "Hi…" she muttered, hearts still beating wildly and every nerve still on fire.

Jack wasn't looking at her, though. He was glaring over her at Greg. "I'd say congratulations on ceasing to be pathetic, but we've got some stuff going on here. Now's really not the time." Without waiting, he stepped over Violet. There was someone else behind him.

…Another Jack. 

She scrambled away from the door, into the hall. "Evil Jack, twelve o' clock!" Of course, how did she know that the first Jack wasn't the evil Jack? Stumbling to her feet, she backed away from both of them. Grabbing Greg's wrist, she tried to yank him away, but he didn't move.

Using his free hand to wipe his mouth, he shook his head. Hair wild and eyes a bit glassy, he looked as…disheveled as she felt inside. If lust was a drug, she would gladly be an addict—or become a nun. She still wasn't sure she could handle that much pleasure again—and they hadn't even delved into the depths of the possibilities that lay before them—kissing was just a scratch on the surface. Anything else may destroy her. "It's ok." Greg didn't sound all that sure, though. He looked to the nearest Jack for answers. 

That Jack frowned. "Looks like we're on the same side…for the moment."

In disbelief, Violet looked back and forth between the two of them. First of all, was it navy button-down shirt day? All Jacks wore black braces on Sundays? "He tried to kill me, you know," she blurted, in accusation. "He was going to hand me over to the Daleks—the REAL ones." It was all starting to come back to her. She was remembering why she'd done…it. The thing that had landed her in her current state—alternating between confusion and a splitting headache, every nerve and sense on fire and sensitive to the smallest stimulation. 

Captain Jack grabbed her arm, dragging her back into the alcove. "Keep your voice down. Look, yeah, that sucks. He tried to kill you and stuff. But we've got some more pressing matters."

Violet let herself be dragged back into the cubby, out of sight, but then she tore her arm from his grasp, wondering just how un-evil this Captain Jack was. A small disgruntled huff escaped her—she happened to think Jack (any Jack for that matter) attempting to kill her and/or hand her over to enemies was a rather pressing thing. Being captured and used as a pawn in any sort of game anyone happened to be playing with the Doctor was the quickest way to draw her ire. That obviously hadn't changed with a new body.

A look of consternation screwing up her eyebrows, Violet thought that this information should make Captain Jack rethink any sort of temporary truce they had going on here. "Yeah, we've got Daleks all over the place, and this one," she thumbed over her shoulder at the other Jack. "Is playing doll house with a bunch of empty Dalek shells. Oh, I remember THAT much—psychic inhibitor? Handing me over to the Daleks? Yeah, you're a real great hero, Ringo."

The other Jack—Ringo, as Violet had come to think of him, glared at her, eyes narrowing. "I should have killed you when I had the chance—put you out of MY misery. God. For alleged geniuses, you and your Doctor are thick. Can we save the 'catch up' session for later? Like when we're not standing incredibly exposed?"

Shooting him a questioning glare, Violet fixed her jumper, pulling it down from where it had ridden up her back and rebuttoned her jacket, finally setting herself right.

Ringo gave her a smug shrug. "What? I might be in charge here, but I will lose my place in the pecking order fairly quickly if I'm seen consorting with the enemy. And being so bold as to do it fifty feet away from the crisis control centre."

This was wrong. This was just so wrong on so many levels, Violet thought as she followed the two Jack's to a set of fire stairs, leading them further up in the building and away from prying eyes, Greg bringing up the rear. Her hand instinctively went behind her, and he grabbed it. It made her remember the rest. The rest of what she had to do—why she was here. Why she was…as she was now. Regeneration hadn't been a lark. 

Guilt and regret twisted inside of her, making her squeeze Greg's hand tighter. 

After she let out an involuntary sigh, Captain Jack turned around. "I never said he was one of the good guys," he whispered. "But for right now, our objectives are the same." Turning back around to manoeuver a few more steps, he looked back up at both of them from the landing. "But watch your back. Don't trust me as far as you can throw me. If it gives him a tactical advantage—he'll throw you to the wolves. In a heartbeat."

Or Daleks, as the case may be. Still—there was something in the way he said it that Violet didn't like. Well, didn't like on top of the content of what he was actually saying.

She rubbed the back of Greg's hand, pulling him around to the next flight of steps. Stealing a glance at him, she didn't notice Captain Jack turning around again and almost ran right into his back. "You've got a…thing." Jack brushed his own neck just under the ear, indicating the 'thing' he was talking about.

Violet's free hand slapped her neck, right where Greg's mouth had been moments earlier. It still tingled with the sweet agony he'd inflicted upon her. Huffing, she could feel herself turning red again. Great—this incarnation was a blusher, on top of everything else.

Jack had quietly returned to up the steps again, innocently staring at his feet as he went, but Violet knew he was grinning. "Jerk," she whispered. "If I get killed for good, I'm coming back and haunting you." She didn't know if it was possible, but she'd find a way, if it could be done. 

Yanking open the door to the top floor, Ringo regarded his entourage with a look bordering on disgust. "Couldn't I have gotten the COMPETENT Time Lord? Just a bit of seriousness would be nice."

It was fine, Violet thought as she made a face—it wasn't like there was any love lost between them. "Yeah, well, you should have thought about that before you tortured 'the smart one' and tried to hand ME over to the Daleks. I'd say the Doctor isn't in a 'helping' mood right now. In fact, I still don't know what the hell I am doing here. I've interrupted a perfectly good snog for this." She could always hand HIM over to the enemy, see how much fun HE thought it was. 

Why was Captain Jack glaring at her like that? "Just stay calm," he muttered, looking over her shoulder at Greg, like he should be her wrangler or something. 

But there was something in his tone that put Violet on edge. It wasn't just a friendly 'lets just all get along until this is over-with' kind of attitude—she'd certainly been forced to work the bad guys before, and she'd always managed to somehow keep the peace. Certainly Captain Jack had to have a bit more confidence in her than all that.

Then it hit her and Violet's shoulders slumped. "I'm so stupid."

Confirmation of her stupidity was in front of her in the form of a lance of Daleks, weapons pointed square at her chest. "I really need to stop walking into traps like this. Oh, by the way, Jack. I'm pretty sure that beheading will solve your immortality problem. Allow me to demonstrate, just as soon as I get myself out of this mess." IF she could get herself out of this mess. But in addition to an appreciation for marmalade the Doctor had given her a deep love and commitment to false bravado. The prattling thing he was welcome to keep to himself, however.

The girl finally just sighed in disgust. She'd been duped twice, by two different Jacks, all in the same day. This had to be some kind of record. "Just stay calm," Jack whispered again as Greg's hand wrapped around her upper arm tightly, cutting off circulation. "I have a plan."

Somehow Violet doubted in her own ability to see it come to fruition. Of course, she suspected, somehow, that this was all part of the game. Something twisted in her chest, lodged like barbed wire between her hearts—the desolation of betrayal. It wasn't directed at Jack, though. She'd only known him a few days…and she hadn't trusted him to begin with. 

No, her eyes locked onto Greg, seeking answers. 

There was a helplessness streaked across his features and a stark hollowness in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Vi. It's the only way to get him here." He was sorry. Great. Good for him. His Judas-like remorse wasn't going to help when the Daleks did… whatever to her. And him? Him who? Probably the Doctor. Had anyone ever thought about just asking nicely?

Oh wait—she remembered why she'd done mental battle with the psychic inhibitor. The Doctor couldn't be here. Badness would ensue, were that the case.

And now she was revisiting an old predicament. She practically needed a stick to keep the hopelessness at bay. She'd regenerated to keep this from happening. What could she do now? Trying to tug her arm from Greg's grasp, she was held steady on the other side by Jack. "Just. Stay. Calm," he whispered harshly. 

You try staying calm, she wanted to tell him, but held her peace. Because—really—what else was there to say?

Ringo approached the Daleks, stepping into the long dark shadows that cut across the space, which was little more than a glorified storage unit, gesturing over his shoulder at his captive. "I told you I'd bring her to you."

At which point Violet gave a few more half-hearted struggles, seeing the futility of her plight. Being taller now gave her more leverage—but she was still weak from regeneration and Jack looked like he could bench press a small bus.

Her throat burned with a suppressed sob which had quickly turned into a strangled cry of anguish at her own stupidity. She'd trusted Greg—ready to give herself to him. And he was serving her up, all right. Right to the Daleks.

Behind her, the metal fire door swung open. She twisted her head around, elation bursting like a bubble in her chest just as quickly as anxiety settled in her stomach. "Mum!" she gasped. "Get out of here!" 

Another fruitless gesture, she was sure—her mum listened about as well as she did…which was to say…not at all.

TBC…


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

XYZ

Rubbing the back of his head, the Doctor angrily spun around, fully prepared to strangle Jackie Tyler. She looked angry enough to give as good as she got, eyes flaring with disgust for him. "What in the hell was that for?" the Doctor asked anyway. Like Jackie needed an excuse to brain him with her mobile.

She thrust her mobile telephone into his chest. "I swear to God, if you don't get Rose and Violet back, I'm going to cut you into little pieces and flush you down the toilet."

Oh great. Things had managed to go from worse to worse-still. He'd also just seen activity above his current location—something popping out of the Void. "What?" he asked, not knowing or caring who was on the other end.

His whole 'caring' attitude changed when he heard what Mickey had to say. First of all—he should have known he could rely on Violet to get herself into trouble. Next, he should have known he could count on Rose to waltz right into it with her. He just couldn't figure out the minutia of the Daleks master plan on this one. Probably it didn't matter in the end—it didn't change his main objective of getting those two back and kicking the Daleks off the planet.

Running a hand through his hair as Mickey explained what the Dalek had told him, the Doctor looked over the information on the console, a full one-third of a plan hatching itself in his head. It seemed odd (and completely trap-like) that this one battered piece of a Dalek would know that Violet and Rose had just been taken…and was using that information to force a meeting between itself and the Doctor. He really did hate it when the Daleks started acting clever.

When he turned around again, still trying to work out an idea, he got a face full of Jackie. She was standing a meagre two feet behind him, arms crossed, nose flared and eyes ablaze. You know, because he'd fully intended for the two people he cared about most in any universe to be captured by his oldest enemy. He was that stupid and…well, whatever else Jackie thought of him. "Personal space," he told the woman, shooing her back. "Three feet." Gesturing, he indicated the imaginary bubble around himself that she wasn't to invade again.

She took a step away from him, looking extremely put-out at even being asked, but she didn't say anything. Was probably the only time in her life she didn't have some clever jab for him.

Turning his attention back to Mickey, he spoke as quietly and as clearly as possible. "I'm not having my hand forced by that thing."

Mickey hesitated. "Are you sure? It seemed pretty serious. Especially about that part about dragging me into the Void." There was more silence on the other end. "But I'll follow your lead."

Yeah—world was definitely coming to an end—Rickey was deferring to his superior judgment. "Blow the damned thing up. Obliterate it. That might send the other Daleks a message." Of course, the Doctor had no idea what message they'd derive from that, but it wasn't his place to worry about Dalek interpretation of subtext.

On the other end, Mickey sucked in a breath. "Alright. I think I see Pete coming back. What're you going to do?"

The Doctor dodged Jackie, heading for the inner door of the smaller TARDIS. "I have a plan. Well, half a plan. Which is better than my usual. If anything else comes out of the Void, shoot it down, kill it—do whatever you have to. And other stuff will—they're going to start sending things through to distract me." Bollocks to the whole part where he couldn't be in two places at once. "And under no circumstances let Torchwood get in your way. It's too important." It was time for drastic measures.

XYZ

Rose stared, wide-eyed with shock mixed with just a pinch of horror (that was the salty goodness of demise, don't you know) at the scene before her. Oh it was so much more complicated than she'd foreseen. "Do I even want know?"

Still straining against Greg and Jack's grasp, Violet let out a stilted little laugh. "If I told you I wasn't responsible for this, would it make me any less grounded?"

Eyes darting between the two Jacks, Rose's eyebrows arched. "No," she answered calmly.

The one gripping her daughter's arm gave her a pained look. "Why doesn't anyone ever believe me when I say I have a plan?"

Violet yanked herself around in his grasp in physical illustration. "I wonder why," she stated dryly, licking the roof of her mouth. "Could it be because you're, oh, I don't know…EVIL?" The girl looked more bitter than angry. Rose had no idea what was going on, but she could venture a guess or two.

The other Jack rolled his eyes. "Remind me why I didn't kill you again?"

Before Violet could come up with some snappy reply, the whole scene was halted by the staccato command of the black Dalek. "You will be silent." Her head twisted back around toward the source of the order. "The apprentice will come with us."

Instinctively, Rose moved to step in front of her child, but the nearest Jack held her back, out of the way. "I'm sorry, Rosie," he whispered, sparing her an injured smile that she recognised from so many years ago. "You'll just have to trust me on this."

She grabbed his sleeve, trying to hold him back. He was dragging Violet forward, despite her heels digging into the cement floor. "Jack?" Rose asked in a hushed, panicked whisper. "Jack—why are you doing this?"

Greg looked away and Jack actually stopped the forward progression. "Rose—you've got no reason to, but trust me. The only way to stop them is to give them what they want." A sad smile crept across his features. "I thought you were dead," he admitted, even though it was entirely not the best time for a confession or reunion. "When I saw the list of the dead from Torchwood One…God. I could have killed the Doctor myself. It's good to see you. I came here to get her out of this. I will."

Violet twisted her arm in his grasp. "You have a funny way of showing it," she hissed as Jack started dragging her again. "Mum—just go. Don't let the Doctor up here. I'll—I'll think of some way out. But he can't come up here."

From the terror in the girl's eyes, Rose could deduce that she'd remembered what it was she was supposed to have told the Doctor. She'd destroyed the psychic inhibitor because she knew if she fell into the hands of the Daleks, the Doctor would come after her, which was apparently a very, VERY bad thing. Rose assumed her daughter knew why that was as well, but never had the chance to ask her. Violet was dragged forward as one of the Daleks moved away from the pack, it's gun trained squarely on Rose's chest.

It really would be just too much to ask for everyone to come up with plans BEFORE rushing off into danger, wouldn't it? Or at least inform her of their half-baked ideas. At the bare minimum, the least they could do would be to include her. "Jack," she muttered, raising her hands over her head. "I hope you know what the hell you're doing."

She redoubled the sentiment when the Dalek came around behind her, urging her forward with Violet.

The other Jack grinned maliciously. "Bet you're wishing you'da backed off, like we wanted you to, huh, Senior Analyst Tyler?"

Rose's eyes narrowed as she proceeded forward, the Dalek's death ray mere inches from her back. "Stuff it."

XYZ

Greg's face twisted in anguish as he helped Captain Jack drag Violet forward. "We'll get you out of this," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He could still feel her soft lips on his…her cool hands gripping his neck, pulling him closer to her. There just hadn't been time to explain…nor did he trust that she'd actually agree or cooperate—this was why she'd regenerated, after all… to avoid this. Then they were going to ask her to just hand herself over to the Daleks? No. Jack had been right—it was easier to play the villain than to try and convince her to participate willingly in their scheme.

He didn't feel confident that the other Jack…Ringo as Violet had called him, wouldn't betray them all…but what choice did they have? If the Daleks could come and go freely from the Void, their choices were very limited.

One thing he'd learned in his time with the Doctor—responsibility to do what was right fell upon those who knew better. This wasn't exactly doing what was right, but it was necessary—Captain Jack had convinced him of that.

One of the Daleks lurched forward. "You will come with us," it told her.

Jack let go of Violet, shoving her forward just a bit, but Greg stayed with her. "We'll get you out of this," he promised, twisting her around to face him. When he saw the smouldering emotion contained behind her wintery blue eyes, he thought for sure she was going to slap him.

Before she could act or even think, he pulled her towards him, his mouth closing on hers. Only a few hours ago, their first kiss had been awkward and chaste (at least by comparison), but when his lips found hers this time, they were quite sure of themselves. Of course, he'd had a good ten minutes' of practice just before they'd come up here.

Something weird flipped and flopped in his stomach as a thought settled in…something of a revelation. It made him draw away from her. Just as he'd felt her finally stop hesitating, and respond back, he thought that he should like to have a whole lifetime of practice. But only with her.

It made his heart start racing with panic as one of the Daleks came between them, forcing her away. "Vi--" his voice caught in his throat. "I—I love you. Vi--"

Trying to rush forward, to go with her, to save her—he didn't know—he was stopped by a strong hand clamping down on his shoulder. "You can't do that. You won't be of any use to her, if you do that." There was a certain amount of understanding in Captain Jack's voice, but he was firm in his resolve.

He hated doing what needed to be done. There was nothing for being the hero if it meant doing things like this.

Violet's mother also moved past him, forced by the gold Dalek, searching Jack's eyes. "Jack—I thought you were dead…" her face went from a sort of shocked surprise to something much darker, something Greg had seen on the Doctor's features before. "But if anything happens to her—you'll wish you did die," she promised.

Family. It was the one thing you didn't interfere with.

In a flash of light that streamed upward and seemed to dissipate like mist in the morning air, they were gone. Three of the Daleks, Violet and her mum. Greg felt like he was going to be sick. Why had he listened to Jack? This was the worst plan ever. Especially since it was instituted by Ringo. Didn't Jack see that this was evil? That no good could come of it?

The one remaining creature moved closer to them. The dome of the black Dalek swiveled, looking directly at the other Jack. "You have completed your task. You are no longer necessary."

Ringo spread his arms wide. "Figured as much." Waiting for it, he glanced at Greg and Jack, telling them with his gaze what to do.

"Thanks," Jack whispered.

With a quick shake of his head, Ringo grunted. "This isn't for you. This is for Earth."

Greg looked away when the death ray blasted. Before the body hit the ground, however, he and Jack started on a dead run for the door.

XYZ

Violet still looked a little green, but she was coming around. "Can you sit up a little?" Rose asked her, trying to prop her up a bit.

The cell was fairly well-lit, which made it relatively easy to see that Violet was still having some…regeneration issues. The moment they'd teleported, she'd gone clammy and pale and about a second and a half after that, she'd lost her grilled cheese sandwich…all over the nearest Dalek (there WAS some sort of justice in the universe, Rose decided), then had proceeded to slump against Rose who'd ended up dragging her to this cell under the watchful eyestalks of their captors.

Pupils dilated, the girl's head wobbled a little as her hands twisted around the fabric of her mother's jacket. "I wish… the universe would hold still."

Rose pushed the soft, fine hair from her daughter's face. "I know. Look at me. We're gonna get out of here. We just need to get you vertical again."

Her daughter's head fell forward, heavily. "Easier…said than done. Wasn't done with…" the girl gasped, still gripping Rose's jacket, her grasp tightening and twisting, like she was trying to hold on to the earth, for fear of falling off. "Neurological realignment. I think the teleport scrambled everything. Really hope…I don't have another personality shift…Oh…"

Violet's stomach lurched again and Rose moved so that she wasn't the target of the projectile vomiting, but the only offering was a few dry heaves. "I'm never gunna be able to eat jelly again. Or lime anything. Or marshmell--" another heave and some stomach acid dribbled out the girl's lips and onto the floor.

After resting against her mother for a few moments, when Violet looked up, she appeared to be a tad more composed. At least, her eyes were in focus and she didn't look like she'd just drop over dead at the nearest opportunity. "If it's ok, I'm going to blame Captain Jack for all of this."

Rose kissed her daughter's forehead, brushing hair away from the girl's brow and breathing in the scent of her one more time for memory's sake. "He'll be killed appropriately later," she assured, then began looking around for some sort of plan on getting out of their current predicament.

XYZ

Running up the steps, the Doctor stopped mid-flight when he heard rubber soles squeaking against tile floors and looked up the small shaft, trying to see who was coming down.

What he heard not only chilled him, but made it abundantly clear that it didn't matter who was coming towards him—they needed his help. "You are no longer necessary. You will be exterminated…"

The only real shock was when, as he approached the two sets of clomping feet, was who he saw there. "You!" he hissed, not really sure if he wanted to help.

Jack pointed to a closed and apparently locked fire door on the landing just behind the Doctor. "Open it!"

Almost wanting to protest—or leave the lot of them to die, the Doctor pulled out the sonic screwdriver and forced the locks as he heard the hum of the levitation thrusters on the approaching Dalek. He slammed his shoulder into the metal, forcing the door opened. Jack and Greg all but fell through behind him.

Jack pushed it shut, ordering him to lock it again, which he did. It wouldn't hold a Dalek, but it would buy them a few seconds. He looked around for some other form of egress. "We need to get back to the TARDIS. I have a plan, but it's really not going to go off well if we're all dead."

With his forearm, the Doctor forced Jack into the wall, sonic screwdriver at eye level. "Give me one good reason not to leave both of you to it."

Greg grabbed the Doctor's arm, trying to pull him away. "It's not what it looks—forget it. They've taken Violet and her mum into the Void. They're trying to pull you there too—I don't know why. Violet seemed to. Captain Jack has a plan--"

The door disintegrated with a large blast, and they were off running again. "This way!" the Doctor hollered, reaching into his pocket for something. Coming to a skidding halt inside a conference room, gesturing for Greg to close the door behind them. "Well, here's the good half of the plan at any rate," he declared, tossing something on the ground in front of them. "The half that I've thought up, that is."

Jack threw his hands up in the air. "Great! That's your plan? A Rubix cube! What are you going to do? Get the Dalek to solve it, or something? Maybe we can drive it crazy when it can't get all the reds and blues on the right sides. Or better yet—we can skip the whole clever plan thing and just talk the Dalek to death!"

The Doctor smirked, despite himself. Well, despite the overwhelming urge to kill both of them. "I've done that before—never underestimate the gift the of gab. Now shut up and let me work."

TBC…


	15. Chapter 15

Standard disclaimers apply. Rosesbud is made of awesomes for her betaness. Totally sorry about lateness. I'm swamped with finals.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 15

XYZ

Sitting on the floor of the cell, Violet rubbed at a smudge on her black leather boot, distracted and forlorn. "I feel like an idiot," she grumbled, fingers of her other hand brushing against the love bite on her neck. "I—I lost my head. I…was caught up in the moment. I couldn't see anything else. No possibilities, no time, no space… It was just…" The girl clenched her eyes shut, shaking her head in disgust with herself. "I bet he meant it that way. He knew I'd—I'd stop thinking. If he—I'm such an idiot."

Kneeling beside her, Rose rubbed her daughter's shoulder supportively. She'd been sixteen when she'd done her first stupid thing for what she thought was love. Violet was about due. "It's always a game of chance. If it works out… it's more chance than anything. You play the game, and you lose more often than not."

Some of the distance shrunk back from the girl's eyes, like she was coming more completely to her senses. "I thought I wasn't allowed to date until I was thirty."

With a knowing smile, Rose brushed the stray locks over her daughter's shoulder. "Uh uh. I think you lost a zero there, somewhere. I think I said three hundred." She ran her fingers through the silky strands a few more times before continuing. "Violet…when you find it… it's going to be the most powerful thing in the world. Frightening, fantastic…everything all at once. You'll want to kill him just as much as you want to kiss him. That's how you'll know. But just because you didn't find it the first time around…that doesn't mean you give up on it forever. Don't be a quitter. It's a roll of the dice. Look at it this way—the more times you play, the more chances you have to win."

Violet looked up at her mother, a rueful grin plastered across her face. "You know statistically, you actually have the same exact odds every time you play. I believe what you're referring to is the old idiom regarding being 'due' for something because of repetitive behavior. It's a superstition and has no mathematical bearing on the universe."

Rose stood up, putting her hands on her hips, trying to make light of how odd that statement sounded, coming from her daughter, who mostly spoke in comprehensible English and somehow managed to squeeze horses into a full fifty percent of her conversations. "Don't try to be clever."

Holding out a hand to her child, she pulled Violet to her feet. The girl was looking better. Physically she no longer looked like death. Mentally… it looked like she'd gotten out of that hole she'd managed to dig for herself. "I don't try to be clever. It just happens naturally, mum. However, Murphy's law is just as good as gravity in some places, and there's no mathematical formula to explain why everything that can go wrong will go wrong, so I suppose it's entirely possible that serial dating could result in the finding of 'the one.' It also explains why I never get the good prize in the cereal box."

Chuckling, Rose began digging through her pockets, trying to find something helpful. Time was, she'd have just waited for the Doctor to come for her, entirely secure in the knowledge that he'd come, they'd defeat whatever 'it' was, then they'd be off on their merry way, laughing and tempting fate.

She wasn't that girl any more, first of all. She could fend for herself, but she also knew better than to tempt fate; fate had taken too much from her. More frighteningly, right now, according to Violet, waiting for the Doctor was about the worst thing they could… for the Doctor's sake at least. Which Rose didn't entirely get; the Doctor had faced these things before. Sure he was a threat, that hadn't changed. What had changed with the Daleks? Oh that'd make her brain explode.

Tracing the girl's new linear features with her eyes, unable to take her eyes off her child, Rose brushed her hands of the lint she'd managed to find in rummaging around her pockets. "Forgot where you were, huh? You know, people usually say they feel the earth move when it's really good, not that they stop feeling it move. You always have to be different, don't you?"

Taking a hint from her mother, Violet also began looking through her coat. "There was nothing but that. It was… almost frightening." She shivered at the memory. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. It's not like that's ever going to happen again."

Finding a hair tie in one of the pockets and a nearly twenty-year-old stick of gum, Rose sighed. Not even McGyver could affect an escape from a Dalek ship with what she had at hand. Looking at the stern-looking metallic hive-like ceiling, she smiled at a memory. "A man in a straw hat once told me to never say never."

Tossing a small bundle of twine over her shoulder, Violet looked at the items in the palm of her hand. A counterfeit Roman coin, a small ten Yen piece and a fifty Yen piece with a hole in the middle. She also tossed the ten Yen coin over her shoulder. "Not useful." The last was said a bit distantly, but then she looked up at her mother, seeming to catch up with the conversation. "I know next to nothing about life and love, but I'm betting handing someone over to the enemy is not the best way to show affection. God… why did he say that? That he loved me? Why would he do a thing like that?"

Rose began patting herself down in a possibly futile attempt to see if anything had been missed when she'd been scanned and searched. "Complicates things, doesn't it?"

Hand landing on her back pocket, Violet looked up at her mother. "You needn't sound so smug about it. I am NOT running back…crawling back to him. Anything to him. Besides…I don't know if…" she stopped. It wasn't really something you should be discussing with her mother. But her mum nudged her to continue. "I'm not sure I ever want to feel like that again. So…in need of something. So…out of control. Like I'd burn up at any moment. Might just be regeneration. But if it is…nothing'll ever be like that again, which I also can't take."

Finding something tucked into the lining of the coat, Rose tried not to grin as she shook it at her daughter. "It ain't great, but it's something. And I think someone protests too much."

Taking the small plastic device from her mother's hand, she turned it over and over, thinking. "If you like him so much, why don't you go out with him."

Folding her arms over her chest, Rose watched her daughter began jarring the cover loose on the box that was no larger than a pack of gum. It was almost reassuring to be having this conversation. It was something normal amidst all of the chaos. Her sixteen-year-old daughter had experienced her first kiss and her first relationship tussle all in the same day (which she blamed on Violet being a consummate overachiever)…and they were talking very calmly and rationally about it. "Thank you."

The cover popped off, flying in the air and landing on the floor. "We're not outta here yet."

Rose kicked the plastic over toward the other things that Violet had determined were unusable. "No, not for that. And trust me, I plan on contributing myself. You'll be thanking your old mum before it's all over. I mean… for this. Talking to me about it. For feeling like you can talk to me about it."

The girl looked down at the little remote control, trying to concentrate furiously upon it. She was turning red. "You…I mean…we used to talk, right?"

Rose knew there was more to it so she remained silent, waiting for more.

Violet turned away from her a bit, looking away as she pulled tiny wires. "And…you seem like a nice person."

The chuckle was past Rose's lips before she could do anything to stop it. It just dribbled out like a soapy foam. "Oh Vi." She wiped a tear of mirth away from her eye. "How much do you remember?" There was no sense in getting upset about it. Compared to the Doctor's regeneration, Violet's had been a piece of cake. When the Doctor explained just how…unusual and, well, traumatic the cause of her regeneration had been, she'd been so afraid things would be even worse than they'd been for the Doctor. She had her girl and her girl was alive, if changed. The details, in that light, weren't important. And if it had been as traumatic as the Doctor thought, and she couldn't remember some things—maybe it was for the best.

Doing something with the Yen, Violet thought about it for a moment. "Its only bits and pieces that I don't have now—not like it was before. Like…anyone's faces. When I saw all of you, it was like meeting you for the first time. And I guess…every time we talk, I remember being little, and the things we used to talk about then. Seems odd to be discussing…stuff. With you." She gulped, her ears suddenly burning a red so dark, it was almost purple.

Another chuckle, this one much smaller than the first escaped Rose. "Sex, Vi. You can say it. Let me put it to you this way—and this is what your gran told me at your age—if you are not mature enough to talk about it properly, you're not old enough for it, end of story."

The girl concentrated deeply on whatever she was rigging together out of the small detonator remote, biting her lips together. Ever so slowly, the red began to recede from her ears and cheeks. "Well, anyways, it's not going to happen because he's evil."

Rose didn't respond. This would be something Violet had to work out for herself. She'd been parenting over email and the phone all these years—she was rather adept at steering the girl in the right direction and then…letting go. Of course, you couldn't let go of something that was no longer in your grasp, but she'd come to peace with her lack of control a long time ago. "How's it going?"

Looking up proudly, Violet held the tiny contraption in her hand. "Three whole volts, or something. Nothing that's going to, say, blow apart a Dalek."

"And don't you dare try doing that with just your brain, ever again," Rose ordered before she could think better. Violet had probably learned her lesson on that front, not to mention just how silly it had sounded issuing from her lips, a command that her daughter stop blowing up space monsters with her mind.

Feeling the blood drain from her face, Rose tried to keep her composure as she caught on to what Violet had been trying to tell them since before she changed. "Vi, do you remember when you were talking to Jack…I'm guessing, now, that that was our Jack. You were talking about jelly, and he said something about Cybermen marshmallows…can you tell me what that was about?"

Violet began walking to the door. "I guess we could start a small fire or something. Wish they wouldn't have taken the staple remover."

Biting back a spark of anger, Rose tried to be the adult. She was, after all, the parent. Violet was supposed to be stupid and teenage. But it irritated her to death that she was choosing THIS to be stubborn about. "Violet, I think you remember now, and you don't WANT to tell me what's going on."

The girl turned around to face her, a sudden dark intensity behind her eyes. "Mum… I'm here now, in the Void… it doesn't matter. I guess… we just have to trust Captain Jack—bastard—to get us out of this, and to keep the Doctor from trying to help. It'll… end badly." Looking at the small device in her hand, she disgustedly let it fall to the ground. "Well, that's three minutes of my life I'm never going to get back. Why can't I think of something USEFUL?"

Rose snatched it up from the ground, turning the tiny thing over and over in her hands. "Violet…I'm sorry."

Folding her arms over her chest, Violet shifted uncomfortably. It reminded her of… someone else. It wasn't important. Her daughter was still her daughter.

The girl's eyes darted back and forth; this particular subject putting her completely on edge. "It's not your fault. I'm the…brilliant mind that didn't see this coming. I walked right into it."

Rose could hear the subtext there—she'd walked right into it because she'd been too distracted by Greg to pick up on something she might have, in other circumstances.

Rubbing the girl's arms, Rose tried to offer some comfort while still getting a straight answer out of her. "It happens. But you know what's going on here. And I have a pretty good feeling it has something to do with you and Bad Wolf."

Clenching her eyes closed, Violet turned away from her mother. "We just need to get out of here before the Doctor figures out a way up here. They need me, and they need me alive. I don't know what they're planning for him, but they're absolutely certain it'll work. Or it's terribly important. All I know is, this whole thing, it's going to be terrible if we don't get out. It's so awful that the other Jack… I think he was trying to kill me as a favor. And … never mind. Just never mind."

She might not have a bunch of letters after her name or degrees on the wall, but Rose caught on fairly quickly. "I did this. I'm sorry."

Violet shrugged. "It wasn't you. I mean, I think it was everything. It just built up over time. Passing through between universes before I was born… well, who knows what Bad Wolf did before I was even thought up, much less dimension hopping. Then the urn jump starts the rewriting of the remainder of my non-Time Lord genetics, Bad Wolf forces me through the Void… I'm probably lucky I don't have four eyes and six hands after all that. Who knows what the Vortex and trans-dimensional particles do people? It's not like there's a whole lot of long-term research on the subject."

Picking up the twine off the floor, Rose tried to think of some clever use for it. "Trip wire. Think the Daleks would _fall_ for it?" She grinned, holding up a bit of the string. Violet wasn't smiling though. She was leaning against the sloped wall, staring at her mother as though she was mad. "Sorry. It was funnier in my head. They want you to open the Void, don't they?"

With a sigh, the girl slid down the wall to sit on the floor. She was looking tired again; her energy seemed to run in bursts. "First time in my life I figure out something before the Doctor does, and I somehow manage to lose it in the process of killing myself. Which was unintentional—I don't care what he says. I didn't think a psychic inhibitor would run through so much feedback I'd light up like a Christmas tree.

"It's a brilliant plan—those rotten tin cans. Drag the Doctor here, use him as bait for me. Get hold of me, use me as bait for the Doctor in some weird hostage leap frog, kill him, or whatever it is they plan, then get me to open the Void. They pour out onto the other universe—or go to any dimension they please. No Doctor means they have free reign over some poor hapless version of reality."

Rose slid down the wall and sat next to her daughter—she could tell this knowledge was a burden on Violet. "How in the hell did you manage to get control of the Void?"

Rubbing her hands together anxiously, Violet tried to explain. "It's not control of the Void, exactly. But I…found my way through. And it seems that…my perception of it can be projected to others. At least I think that's what's happening. It'd be really creepy if Hell was made out of jiggly, slimy jelly just because I said so. You remember how grandpa used to drag me to church, so I wouldn't grow up to be a godless heathen? I think it's like that."

The quip was fast, fired off like semi-automatic fire. "You're a god, or a heathen?" Sure, she was forcing it, but drowning in a sea of angst, real or teenaged, wasn't going to do Violet any good, which in turn wasn't going to do either of them any good.

Nudging her mother's shoulder the girl at least looked like some of the tension was dissipating from her forehead. "Not the point of the story. So the priest gets up on the pulpit and he's a nice fellow, I suppose… I'm not paying a lick of attention. I was maybe four or five, you see. Anyway…I just remembered what he was saying about hell. It's not a place. It's a state of mind. No one can send you there, you send yourself. It's a place devoid of…well, love. It's emptiness and separation. It's a Void." She tapped the side of her head. "Hell happens to be filled with green jelly. I suppose that's one level up from being filled with fruit cake."

Not entirely sure she understood what her daughter was talking about, Rose wrapped an arm around the girl anyway, giving an affirming squeeze. There was always an abyssal element to any conversation with the Doctor, information about aliens she'd never met, mathematical theories she couldn't hope to conquer and occasional odd technologies thrown in.

She supposed conversations with Violet would be like that from here on out, though she didn't know if it was because of regeneration or just her girl growing up. But she knew when the time for asking questions was, and she knew this wasn't it. This was the time for support…especially since she, herself was a part of the problem. She wanted to curse Bad Wolf, but couldn't quite bring herself to. The Doctor was still alive because of it…so was Violet.

But if Bad Wolf could see everything, why hadn't she seen this? Why would she defeat the Daleks only to provide them with an opportunity to control the Void? Should she simply trust that Bad Wolf had seen a way out of this, as well?

There was some movement outside the door. Violet and Rose instantly got to their feet; neither were inclined to show weakness in front of the enemy. Violet pulled a few stray locks of hair behind her, smoothing out the fine strands. Her mum could tell that the new hair was fascinating to her. If and when they got out of this, she could look forward to Violet brushing it for hours upon hours, simply to enjoy the novelty of the brush actually running all the way through without becoming snarled in wild frizzy waves.

Suddenly Rose grinned. She had something else to tease the Doctor about. Violet had somehow gotten all of her wishes—straight hair, taller, a figure to speak of and enough of a chest to require a bra. No telling how the girl had managed it, maybe intense wishful thinking at the time of regeneration? Must have been how her Doctor had ended up so…pretty after his transformation. She was going to have hours of fun with this. "We'd better get out of here alive," she whispered to her daughter as the golden metal door slid back, receding into the wall. "I've just found a whole new way of torturing the Doctor, and it won't work if I'm dead."

Two Daleks rolled in, Satan's pepper pots. They'd look ridiculous if Rose didn't know what they could do. There wasn't any fear in her daughter's eyes, however. A smile was dawning over her. "Well, why didn't you say so. We'll be sure to live now."

Rose snuck a sidelong at Violet as the Daleks stopped a few feet in front of them. "Is the sarcasm really necessary?" she muttered quickly.

"You will come with us," the gold one ordered, its dome swiveling toward Rose.

All humour dropped from Violet's face and she moved to step in front of her mother. "No. You don't need her. I've figured your plan out. You want the Doctor but I don't know why, and you want me to open the Void. Maybe you think I'll work better under pressure, but you don't have to. I'll—I'll do it, ok? Let her go."

It was a desperate sounding plea, and they both knew it was highly unlikely to work, considering the eventual endgame of these creatures was the annihilation of anything that wasn't Dalek. Rose simply wrapped her hand around the girl's wrist, gently pulling her back, the way she used to when Violet felt tempted to run out into traffic as a small child. "It's ok. We'll think of something," she said quietly… patting herself on the back for sounding so calm.

One of the Daleks pushed its way between Violet and her mum. The other saw Rose out of the tiny room. When Rose turned around, she saw Violet's face slide from desperate and fearful to lock-jawed and unreadable. The glimpse was but a second, before the Dalek jostled her forward.

The tunnel had a high, arched ceiling. It wasn't necessarily ill-lit, but it wasn't bright, either. Somehow, it suited Rose at the moment—dismal, but not without hope. Something knotted in her chest, however, as she heard the cell door close behind her, and only saw one Dalek following her.

Violet was alone in there, with that thing. She was needed, though—Rose could take comfort in that. Her daughter wasn't in immediate danger of being 'exterminated.' It was one thing that had always broken her heart—the things her daughter was meant to suffer.

Rose, however… knew she, herself, wasn't quite so necessary.

XYZ

Greg took a step back from the Doctor and Jack. Totally something he didn't want to be in the middle of. And quite frankly… nothing had changed in the last few weeks-he was still just along for the ride. He had absolutely no opinions on the matter. He'd already done enough damage for the day, after all.

The Doctor sighed running his hands through his hair. "That's a STUPID plan. That's even stupider than MY plan! I'm still not even sure why I'm letting both of you LIVE!"

The young man's back hit the white wall of the 'other' TARDIS. The one he'd nicknamed Fred. It was a rather mean nickname, to be sure…Functionally Retarded in Every Dimension…but Violet laughed whenever he used it. Well, ok, it wasn't completely retarded—it had just saved their lives—and it had a functioning Chameleon circuit, which even the Doctor's ship didn't have. That happened to be how he'd disguised it as a Rubix Cube, then stuffed it into his pocket. A very handy thing indeed.

Jack pointed to a readout on the other side of the console. "Come on, we have to do something, Doc. Otherwise this whole thing's been for nothing. And I think you're only saying no, because you don't trust Violet and Rose. You don't trust them to figure it out without you telling them what you want them to do. And that's it. This is the only thing that's going to work, and you know it."

The Doctor's mouth opened, but before he could launch into a tirade about just how stupid and reckless Jack was being, he stopped, index finger pointing at the other man. "I swear…if anything happens to them…."

Rolling his eyes, Jack folded his arms across his chest. "You're going to kill me. And if anything happens to her, Rose is going to kill me. I get it, I get it."

Walking to the console, the Doctor began vigorously flipping switches and turning knobs. "Alright. Your stupid plan it is—and I'm only doing this under protest."

"Hey!" Jack sniped back, "I come up with good plans!"

When the Doctor came round the console to turn a crank, Greg dared to venture a little closer. It seemed settled. Well, settled enough. Everything'd be just find… as long as the Doctor didn't find out that he and Captain Jack were responsible for handing Violet over in the first place.

He ran Greg off again as he continued making his way around the console. "And just what do YOU have to say for yourself?"

Greg panicked, looking to Jack for help and getting none. "I—I'll do whatever it takes to get her back. Sir." He'd always called the Doctor that and somehow always felt like he should be saluting when he did so. Now it was more of a plea to not be killed for being so…obsessed with her. It should have been easier—she was someone else now. Someone who didn't even remember him at first. He should have just stuck to letting all of this go, and returning to a mundane life. A second chance to do so had been presented when she'd changed, but instead of presenting an opportunity to sever himself from her, he was now made even more insane at every thought of her.

Jack rolled his eyes. "The kid's in love. You could ask him to eat glass for her right now, and he'd do it. Which is why this plan is so brilliant."

There was a yawing noise as the ship faded in and out of time and place. "Well, then lets get on with it. Before something else happens."

Turning to his young partner, Jack gave the kid a double thumbs up. "Fantastic. It's going to work itself out." He looked away and muttered, "Granted we all live, that is."

TBC…


	16. Chapter 16

Standard disclaimers yadda, yadda. Thanks again to Rosesbud for her superior abilities with spelink and punkchewatshin. Sorry that it's been a couple of days… I'm still drowning in finals. Some day I'm going to live in a world where I'm just working, instead of working AND going to school and I won't know what to do with myself and all my free time. Oh well, I'll probably use it up reading and writing fanfic. Same as now, only, uh, more of it. I can't believe I contemplated filling out the phd application today. I'm obviously on drugs.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter Sixteen

XYZ

Had Mickey mentioned just how disgusted he was with life recently? Well, he was. Arms raised over his head, he glanced up from the barrel of a Torchwood gun to the hoard of Daleks gathering in the sky. "Look, I am sure you think this," he gestured to the gun "is the bigger picture. But they are." Slowly pointing at the creatures in the sky, he watched them pull into some kind of formation, obviously awaiting orders. As soon as they got those orders, it was going to be mass slaughter, but this idiot was worried about capturing him.

As wind whipped around them on the chilly rooftop, the woman with the gun shifted on her feet, the weapon never moving from where it was trained on his chest. She was under orders too, he realised. And like the Daleks, she was a good little soldier and would do whatever Torchwood told her, despite the illogic of the situation.

Lowering his hands very slowly, Mickey tried to make one last go at salvaging the situation. If worst came to worst, and he was able to turn as he reached for the generator behind him before she pulled the trigger, he'd probably get the thing started before he did something stupid and inconvenient like dying from drowning in his own blood from the bullet (idealistically) hitting him in the lungs as he moved, instead of the heart. "I don't know if we can stop it. But I have to at least try. I thought we were on the same side, at least that far?" When the other agent didn't respond, Mickey sighed. "Can you stop following orders for just long enough to look around you? If we don't at least try to do something, we're all dead. And it won't matter that the Director wants me brought in."

The woman in the all-black suit with the no-nonsense bun at the base of her neck took a step closer, and he knew his chances of being able to turn enough that the bullet wouldn't kill him immediately had just been reduced by quite a bit. One more step and it'd be point blank, and he might as well just throw in the towel at that point. "It wouldn't have come to this if you'd have let Torchwood do its job."

The subtext was clear—he, Pete and Rose should have just stepped out of the way and let Torchwood do whatever they pleased with Violet and the Doctor.

Doing something stupid but necessary, Mickey lowered his hands another few inches to just below shoulder height and took a step forward, putting himself entirely at her mercy. Whoever she was, she worked directly under the mysterious head of the organisation. Which meant, at this point, she knew more than Mickey did about the inner-workings of the current situation. Still—there were certain guesses that he could make. "I don't know how all this started, but I bet it had something to do with making a deal with a Dalek. You just can't do that. That being said, I'm not just going to let my employer hand over the two people who have a prayer of stopping them. That's just…not smart."

One hand came off of the woman's gun and went to her ear. This was his chance…

The second her eyes darted away from him, he turned, reaching behind him to the transmitter. It wouldn't stop the Daleks, but it would confuse their sensors, which would at least buy some time.

The thing fired up, and Mickey was rather surprised by the fact that he hadn't been punched full of holes yet.

"Don't move," the woman ordered him. "I see," she then responded to the voice in her ear.

The generator was started—he was done. He raised his hands up in momentary compliance. "We're on the same side," Mickey reiterated.

The woman took another step closer, careful to stay just out of arm's reach. "It would appear that we are." Her orders had changed. But why wasn't she lowering the gun. "But you're still part of the problem, not part of the solution."

Mickey pursed his lips in frustration. He was disgusted with life, the universe and everything. And he hated everything and everybody.

XYZ

The dematerialisation sequence was… smooth. Surprisingly so. The Doctor's TARDIS tended to shake and rattle, sometimes tossing them about as it came and went. It was something like going over Niagara Falls in a barrel, Greg thought.

He was also surprised in light of just how…badly FRED had performed in the other reality. He wouldn't have named the thing as he had, if the ship had been capable of functioning, much less functioning in a consistent manner there.

That being said, he kept a hand on the console as they entered the Vortex. He didn't want any unexpected surprises, like flying into a wall if the ship jostled suddenly, just to spite him for nicknaming it 'retarded.'

They were actually going through with this. He couldn't believe it. There was only a fine line between what the Daleks wanted to transpire—had been attempting to make transpire—and this plan. But Jack was right—something had to be done and quickly, because the ship's sensors had reported the sudden appearance of a fleet of shipless Daleks, hovering over London.

Once above the planet and away from the populace, Jack had made contact with the Daleks, explaining that he had the Doctor and set up a meeting. Obviously they didn't know that Jack Harkness was supposed to be dead, which was one potential flaw that Greg had pointed out early on, earning a questioning glare from the Doctor. They'd never quite gotten around to the whole two Jack discussion, and in truth, they were both talking around it.

This is where the plan went to pot. Jack 'negotiates,' read—stalls the Daleks and somehow…SOMEHOW Greg and the Doctor manage to sneak around on a Dalek mothership with only the aid of a Torchwood jamming device and some empty Dalek shells to hide them from the hordes of aliens out to kill them. Greg had to stick with the Doctor on this one. This WAS the worst plan in the history of all plans. They'd almost be better off without one.

But they'd initiated this. They'd handed Violet over, because they knew from the other Jack that was the only thing that'd stop what was about to become a Dalek massacre on the city. And it had temporarily staved it off—until they decided it was time to collect the Doctor as well. One thing was for certain—they had this down to a science. They knew exactly which buttons to push to make the inferior species' do what they wanted.

Showing up and shooting without warning was the quickest way to get the Doctor's attention, and it would have worked, too, if Ringo's empty Daleks hadn't managed to hold them off long enough to force the remainder of the real Daleks to scuttle off to regroup.

There were so many layers of subterfuge that Greg almost couldn't keep them all straight. All he knew was that he'd betrayed Violet. Jack had reasoned that since the Daleks needed her, she'd be fine, and he was right—it wasn't like she'd have offered herself up on her own. And she didn't know what was going on out there, or the types of things that they were monitoring at crisis control. It was the quickest way to prevent the Daleks from returning with reinforcements, which Ringo's hollows would not have been able to hold off, considering how few there were of them left.

They'd continued to leave the part out where Greg and Jack were responsible for Violet and her mum being on a Dalek ship, in the Void… but hopefully they could get through this before the Doctor inevitably snapped and roasted both of them alive over a hot, overloading TARDIS conduit.

Flipping switches, pressing buttons and, turning knobs, the Doctor brought the ship out of the Vortex at the coordinates that Jack had gotten from the Daleks. As they rematerialised inside the Dalek ship, Greg looked at Jack, wondering if this would really work. "Has to," Jack muttered. "No choice."

Greg sighed. "Yeah. Something like that."

Jack walked to the double inner-doors, preparing himself. Greg knew Captain Jack wasn't enjoying the thought of this—he had been killed by Daleks once already. It wasn't like he wanted to go around tempting fate, seeing if he could survive everything up to and including another round with a Dalek.

The Doctor began adjusting the cloaking device to cancel the correct signals. He didn't look happy—he probably wanted to complain, but really—they were all out of options. "This had better work, Harkness," the Doctor ordered harshly. "And when this is over with, you're going to explain what the hell is going on here."

A dry, faint chuckle escaped the youngest member of the party. "Oh, a barrel of laughs, that one will be. I think the story involves flying monkeys as well." Greg fidgeted, looking down at his feet. "We're gonna get her back." It was as much a question as a statement. "Cos I can't--" he stopped himself before something overly heart-felt and cliché erupted from his lips. Captain Jack would just mock him anyway. He found Greg's whole…thing with Violet to be childish and terribly amusing.

Jack nodded. "Everybody's going home."

Still committed to his fidgeting, the young man shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy dark blue jeans. "If, y'know. It doesn't go well, or whatever. Can someone lie to my mum? Tell her I was doing something stupid and random like bungee jumping off a bridge, or car surfing." Somehow, he thought his mother might take it easier than if she knew he'd ended up 'exterminated' trying to save a girl he had fallen hopelessly for from an alien fleet, and thereby saving not just one universe but two from having their realities invaded by said evil creatures. No, his mum blaming him for doing something stupid that had cost his life would actually fly better.

The Doctor rolled his eyes, also apparently having had quite enough of the mooning and melodrama. "Everybody goes home."

Grinning, Jack opened the inner doors. "Oh quit pining. You two are going to make cute little time puppies together."

With that Captain Harkness departed. This left the Doctor glaring angrily at him after Jack's mention of 'time puppies.' "Inside of a volcano, I mentioned that, right?"

Greg felt his cheeks burning. "I'm sorry. I just—and then when I thought I might never see her again, and she was in trouble…" And Greg knew he was making absolutely no sense at all. How to tell the Doctor this, exactly?

Tapping his foot against the floor for a moment, Greg finally let it out in one big gush. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I completely wasn't intending it, but, I—I love her. And—and I'm not sorry for that. But I'm still sorry. I'm sorry that you said not to and I did anyway. I'm not sorry for… for--" drawing in a shuddering breath, he left it there.

God, coherence wasn't his strong suit, when it was regarding Violet, was it? Otherwise he'd have never had her crushed up against that metal door, trying to explore every last bit of the new her. And the new her…made his heart pound. Made other parts of him… well, no good would come of dwelling on that, now would it?

He was supposed to be freaking out more about her change. She was someone else entirely, after all. Every last bit of her was different. But they'd spent the better parts of a year talking about her people and 'regeneration' and a thousand other crazy things. He always forced her to tell him something about herself before he'd part with any personal tales of woe and growing up the youngest of seven (which amused her to no end—he swore stories about his mother acting nutty were like some kind of Time Lord crack to her).

He should have at least given her a chance to catch her breath—to figure out who she was. One time when they were stuck in the Vortex for a few days making repairs (the TARDIS equivalent of a rainy day) she'd explained the biological process of regeneration. It was like… Changing the exterior of a home—changing the bricks out for stone, then gutting the inside. The first change was the most apparent, but the changes continued throughout the regeneration cycle. He should have given her a day or two, for the changes to end. He should have given her time to figure out the new her.

Instead he wanted to…well, he was nineteen. He was blaming it on human male nature and hormones. Still—it made him a prat. Sure, he loved her. He'd loved her before she'd changed. But it was only now that he couldn't…what? Keep his hands off of her?

Finally he had the courage to look the Doctor in the eye and try to salvage some of the situation. "And…it's not just because she looks…" words escaped him. "Wow. Now. I—I…before." Why was love such a hard word for him to say, suddenly? Well, it was only tough when he was looking the Doctor in the eye. "I thought I could forget her," he whispered in concession, finally. It was an admission to himself, as much as the Doctor, of the mistake he'd made in thinking he could simply leave the TARDIS and have his life return to normal. Some people's did, or so he'd heard from their stories of other travelling companions, but his couldn't.

Augh. It sounded so lame, even when he didn't say it out loud. Captain Jack was right—he was pathetic. Well, if it meant he got to love her… then he'd risk being a pathetic weasel for the rest of his earthly existence.

Ok, so he could live with himself, being a sad creature in a sappy kind of love, but why wouldn't the Doctor look at him?

XYZ

One thing that Violet could say about regeneration—it had been an educational experience. She had no idea who she was any more, what she liked or how she felt about most things. But certain…biological things were impressing themselves upon her. Things like the feeling of adjusting to a new body, adjusting to how it felt and saw the world…and just the feeling of being. Violet had learned from that glorious kiss against the storeroom door that every sensation was intense while she was still in the process of regenerating. It had been so overwhelming that pleasure bordered on pain, not that it had stopped her in any sort of way.

The same could not be said for pain, however. There was the same sensory overload, like the world would end and her body split in two as her skin fried and her mind plunged into icy water. However…pain was…well, painful. There was no pleasurable component to it—though she supposed if there was…it would make her some sort of odd fetishist. She viewed all of these things with a scientific detachedness.

Her blood was also very, very red.

She didn't know if it was just the intensity of her experience of the colour red, or if her blood truly glistened like that as it dripped from her nose. It was sweet-looking, lush, like some sort of ripe fruit. It landed on the metal floor, spreading out and joining with the rest of the puddle between her hands. She leaned forward just a bit more, trying to keep the blood away from her dark trousers and white top. It wouldn't do, to have red smears and blotches all over her. It sent the wrong message, when you were trying to save the universe—or earmarked portions therein.

Waiting until the dripping slowed, she held a hand to her nose, sitting back on her feet. Her head raised slowly, and she looked the thing in the 'eye,' or what passed for one. "I remain unimpressed."

Another arc of some strange plasma-like energy passed from the Dalek to Violet, striking her square in the chest again. The pinkish-orange tendrils were like street lamps lighting up behind her eyes, their light the only thing she could see.

Clenching her teeth, she resisted the urge to scream as the fire ate her alive from the inside out.

They couldn't kill her. No, they knew that—she knew that. They knew that she knew that.

But they sure could make her suffer until she was needed. It seemed like that was the plan.

Her palms slammed into the ground again the moment the energy was cut off. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she watched the blood again, flowing, then dripping. Her mind slowly withdrew from the moment, distancing itself. It was impossible not to feel the pain. But as the minutes passed, she cared less and the drops became fewer.

Leaning back again, she looked at the Dalek. "I've still got…oh, eleven or twelve hours left on my regeneration. We can keep doing this till then."

A grim smile spread across her features as she was hit again, the blast burning her mind as the world behind her eyelids lit up. This was certainly technology she'd not seen with the Daleks before. She was sure that the one Dalek that she nearly drove mad by talking it into a fury would have certainly loved to have tortured the hell out of her for six hours until the Doctor showed up. Of course, that incident could have precipitated the new special anti-Violet torture technology.

The impact of her hands hitting the ground again spread through her palms to her fingertips, making it feel like they were brittle and breaking. Her elbows quivered and she almost ended up facedown in her own blood.

Catching her breath, she didn't wait for the blood to stop this time, she simply raised her sticky, bloody hand to her nose, trying to staunch the flow and save the brand new jumper. "I'm not impressed by the lot of you. I find it to be very sad that I am necessary to you. Me. Little old me."

The energy blast began again, and she was certain her right heart had stopped beating. Excess power flowed to the floor through her fingertips, knocking her backwards this time, instead of onto her hands and into the puddle of blood. The sensation of her head smacking against the metal floor was some new kind of pain—blunt and radiating, unlike the rest of her which was burning from the inside out.

"We do not need you whole," the Dalek informed her, backing up towards the door. "Simply alive."

Closing her eyes, she let out a breath, trying to turn her head so that she didn't drown in her own blood. "I ought to throw myself out an airlock just to spite you."

There was the whooshing sound of the cell door opening. "We will still win."

Violet felt consciousness being robbed from her—it wasn't fair. She'd probably passed out more in the last three days than in the whole rest of her life combined. "Why? Do you think the Doctor can open the Void?" They were sorely mistaken, if that was the case.

"No. But Bad Wolf will."

Oh, like hell she was going to let that happen. Her bloody fingers reached out and wrapped around the forgotten detonator. "You're not doing anything to my mum." This was a bad plan. This was possibly a worse plan than the feedback loop. But it was the only thing she could think of, with unconsciousness dragging her down. "You chunky…overgrown…pepper pot. The Doctor's going to kill you all, he will. He's going to--"

Another jolt went through her, and it was about time, too…she was running out of clever things to say. She was probably doomed if she'd lost her ability to run at the mouth since regeneration. Assuming she lived.

Using her finger to hold the foil of the counterfeit Roman coin secure around the timer for the detonator, she forced it to go off.

That flicker was all that she'd needed—of course, the thing was now molten slag in her hand, but the chain reaction it had started within her travelled along the arc of the energy coming from the Dalek, and straight into the damned thing. Plasma arc plus cellular regenerative energy plus the tiniest bit of AAA spark…

It was like a science experiment gone magnificently—horribly wrong. When the Dalek broke apart, it was reduced to tiny pieces, nothing left of its flesh but the rising acrid smoke of it being disintegrated. The second it exploded, energy raced back into her and the world erupted into a white-hot haze, blinding her for several moments.

When her vision cleared, she saw it. The door to the cell was still open.

Rolling onto her side, Violet tried to get up, intending to run for it. She got as far as getting one hand under her. Arm trembling, she hit the ground with force. Her last thought was about how she really needed to kick the unconsciousness habit.

TBC…


	17. Chapter 17

Standard disclaimers. Thanks to Rosesbud again. She, like Captain Jack, is made of awesomes.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 17

XYZ

Rose had seen the inside of enough torture rooms in the last few days to last her a lifetime. Trying to give her mind some sort of outlet as she struggled against the bonds, and the agony running through her, she wondered briefly if there was some sort of bare minimum or maximum limit to the number of torture rooms one should see the inside of over the course of a lifetime. Then she wondered how many the Doctor had seen the inside of. He'd had what? Eleven or twelve lifetimes, if you were counting strictly by human lifespan under his belt. Ten lifetimes if you were going by regenerations. One really, really long one if you were just counting by Time Lord life spans.

She should go to the circus when this was all over. Violet wanted to go on a picnic, and that was all well and good. Except for the part where her mother would try to poison the Doctor, strangle him intentionally or stab him through a heart or two with a garnish fork. Then Pete would be forced to try and stop her. There'd be a tussle and someone'd loose an eye by means of an out of control corkscrew…

Rose also wasn't sure if this Violet could handle the whole sitting in grass thing. She'd probably get a scuff on her shoes or ants on her clothes and that'd be the end of the day. Violet used to end her day covered in soot from playing behind the cellar steps or come back from outings with Jackie so disheveled one didn't know where the dirt ended and the bruises began.

Now…her little girl seemed to be quite concerned with appearance. About all she could hope for is that the girl would escape that brief fascination she'd had with lip balm and too much mascara. But Violet seemed to have the natural look going for her, so it was possible she wouldn't repeat one of her mother's… bad habits, she supposed they could be called.

Nah. She couldn't imagine this Violet (how easily she could think that!) running around after a Frisbee, sliding in the dirt to make a save. The picnic thing might not work out how her daughter thought it would.

But she'd like the circus. The lights, the animals. Popcorn, clowns… ok, maybe not clowns. For some strange reason, clowns made her think of Daleks. Daleks made her think of…gingerbread. Gingerbread made her think of Cybermen which made her think of jelly salad, green and barely digested and vomited out into nothingness with chunks of green cherries.

And grisly bears and scrambled eggs and…

Ok, those weren't her thoughts. She could almost see the clown/Dalek thing, but Gingerbread Cybermen and green candied cherries suspended in vomit were definitely not her things would find their way into (or out of) her head.

But at least it helped her segregate her mind from the things tearing through it at high speed, trying to eat it from the inside out…to melt her brain cells and fuse them all together in a burnt mess.

This was, quite possibly, the most painful thing Rose had ever experienced. And she said this as someone who'd given birth to a child that was not only two weeks past her due date but also weighed roughly the same amount as a Christmas turkey. El Natural. Without the aid of anything resembling a pain killer, due to the whole not knowing what anything she used or ingested would do to her child. Yes, even before her birth, Violet was causing her agony.

It was just now she'd managed to find some entirely new way to cause her poor mother misery. And this was some whole new level, for certain. Rose was pretty sure it was simply because the mind was an amazing thing. It could imagine the impossible, calculate the improbable, it could interpret fluffy clouds, experience plain and pleasure, affect the body, pushing it beyond its limits, and a million other things.

Her little human ape mind might not be able to sift through all that might be and could bebut it did what she needed it to do. It had always been up to snuff, at least for her.

This was…probably not something her human mind should be experiencing, no wonder it was on overload…no wonder she was in more pain than her body could recall ever enduring. She had no idea where it was coming from, what had created this connection or bond…but now was one time she wasn't excited for that special kind of love and togetherness that can only be experienced by a mother and child. She'd never had anything like this with Violet, even when the girl was in her womb. So she wasn't sure why she was so closely tied to the girl right now—why she was experiencing every jolt of power that ran through her little girl. Not in her body, in her mind.

Her hands slammed against the metal restraints as it began again, reaching some new height that she was sure would make her eyes bleed.

The metal surrounding her wrists and ankles was actually getting warm. Rose had no idea why—it didn't make sense. Unless what she was experiencing was more than just a psychic bond…or some physical manifestation therein.

The world went to a bright hot pink like a neon flamingo above the mirrored top shelf in one of those greasy places with salty pizza and cheap, throat-burning vodka… a dark, smoky place where the flamingo was a violent, misplaced eyesore. Violet was doing something—taking matters into her own hands. She felt it and was sure of it, especially when the light behind her eyes melted from pink to the fiery orange of daybreak, tendrils of a familiar golden light wisping around the edges of the sun.

That couldn't be good.

XYZ

After a decade and a half of careful deliberation, the Doctor had determined that there was only one explanation for all of Rose's boyfriends. Mickey, Adam, Jack…and every other pretty face they met along the way in those fantastic two years they'd traveled together. It was an explanation that suited him, because it meant that there had been something between them from the beginning—that he wasn't imagining it. This was a good thought, because if he had been imagining it, that would have just made him a very dirty, very old Time Lord.

Jealousy. Jealousy was the only thing he could think of—she wanted to make him jealous. She wanted him to squirm the way he'd squirmed every time she flirted with some bloke, human or otherwise, and smiled at his previous self with the devilish look that asked him to just dare saying anything—because if he said anything, he'd be pretty much making a claim to her.

Oh, she was just an evil little vixen like that. She'd managed to make it perfectly clear that she was completely and utterly available…to him, if only he'd get himself together and act upon the open invitation.

She'd done a fair job of making him jealous too. He'd spent whole stretches of time fighting back the urge to kill whomever she'd set her attentions upon.

Now, though, he was rethinking the jealousy angle. He was having trouble thinking of a damned good reason why this…thing that was happening to him was transpiring in the here and now.

He'd become the tin dog.

K-9 was great and all that—cleverest little pooch in the universe, but the Doctor didn't want to be a tin hound. He didn't want to be a third wheel, which he realized he'd been for a while now—he just hadn't noticed. This startling fact gripped him the moment a certain young man slid his hand under Violet's neck, gently trying to nudge her into consciousness.

And instead of doing anything about it, he just stood there in the doorway, arms spread across the threshold, hanging on the frame.

Sure the kid had panicked and just about lost his mind when they'd found the destroyed remnants of the Dalek, the walls lined with soot from the explosion and Violet, collapsed onto her side with a hunk of melted plastic in one hand, a face streaked with blood, and a puddle of it at her feet. The Doctor's own chest had lurched, he'd admit it—but she was alive, he could feel it.

He could feel her—the power coursing through her. It wasn't just regenerative energy any more. Something else had happened. Of course something else had happened—you didn't just blow up Daleks with no weapons, a tiny detonator and no bombs. There was a rule about it somewhere.

Greg kissed her forehead, and he wanted to kill the kid. The Doctor knew that he should have been making sure Violet was ok. He should have been seeing her through all of this…but that place had been usurped. Perhaps there was a reason for that—he'd been utter crap at being domestic; at providing…domesticness for Violet whilst she was growing up. Now he was the tin dog, and there'd be no do-overs. That much was clear when the girl's eyes fluttered and she looked directly at their former travelling companion—not even acknowledging the Doctor's existence--and she smiled as if the sun rose and set in the kid's pocket.

And that stupid kid whom he could just strangle… returned her smile just as warmly, a glint in the eye that he recognised…it was the same look he'd always had when he and Rose were reunited, squeezing each other and laughing at the sheer joy of continued existence in each other's company. "See, told you we'd come for you," he assured Violet quietly, thumb rubbing a smeared bit of blood on her cheek. "You're a mess."

Violet…had a bit of a history with boys. She liked them, there'd been no getting around that. Oh, she pretended like she didn't notice them, but there were only so many times that you could nearly get yourself killed for a pretty face before people began to question your indifference.

It was a subject they'd never really broached. Ok, well, he picked on her about it. But what was he supposed to say? He was…he didn't know what he was to her. He never did manage to sort that out. But he was…the Doctor (might as well be what one was, after all) and she was a child. A very small female child that liked horses, anything that was pink and the flavour red (yes, red was an actual flavour to Violet—cherry, strawberry, watermelon, there was no distinction—it was all 'red' to her). What was he going to say?

That would have been a lovely conversation. 'The thing about Gallifreyans and sex is…'

Yeah. He was better off harassing her endlessly for getting herself nearly set on fire for her tenth birthday because she insisted on freeing a pretty boy from the stockades, or nettling her for weeks on end when she'd nearly been shot out an airlock on a 67th century battle cruiser because she thought one of the enlisted boys was too adorable (she said nice and sweet, but she was thinking adorable—some things came off of her so strongly she didn't even notice she wasn't shielding her thoughts) to be taken prisoner by the opposing side. She'd just jumped right in, without thinking that maybe showing up unannounced on an enemy ship in the middle of a war wasn't the brightest move.

If Rose chased boys to spite him, why did Violet do it? Genetic predisposition to giving him an aneurism, he supposed. Or it was something girls just HAD to do (he still didn't understand the opposite sex, even as old as he was).

When their lips locked, the Doctor had to turn away, something akin to mourning stabbing right between his hearts. He'd lost her. Right then and there…he'd lost her. And he'd watched it happen. "This is all well and good, but we need to get a move on, before Jack's brilliant plan crumbles to pieces."

Violet looked at him for the first time—she hadn't even noticed he was there. "They've got mum."

He let go of the frame, folding his arms over his chest. "Yeah, that was pretty evident by her not being in any of the cells in this area. Any idea where they've taken her?" He didn't mean to be so short with her—ok, maybe he did.

Greg helped her to her feet, and he had to bite back sarcasm when the young man handed her a cloth handkerchief out of his back pocket. Great—now the kid was taking moves right out of the Captain Jack Guide to Dancing.

It wasn't too late for him to toss the kid into a black hole…

No, it was. The Doctor'd already lost her. She was just as ridiculous over that boy as he was over her, that much was evident in the way her arm snaked around his and the way she looked at him as they passed back into the service tunnel, their lance of 'hollow' Daleks visually shielding their movements as the transmitter blocked their life signs.

Why couldn't they just wait? At least until they weren't on a Dalek ship, in the Void, and he wasn't wandering around with a now-nearly-dead TARDIS in his pocket? "Any idea where they took her?"

Sparkling blue eyes met his. They grew very distant, and he could feel the raw psychic energy pouring out of her. All of that regenerative power had been directed towards some psychic effort, and at least for now, she was possibly the most powerful being on this ship. Which was a problem—especially if the Daleks found that out. "She's a level below," the girl whispered. "Oh dear." Her eyes snapped into clear focus. "What're you doing here?" It was like she was seeing him for the first time. "They want you here. You can't be here."

He didn't say anything, he simply grabbed the arms of the young and hopelessly star-crossed and yanked them toward the middle of the Dalek formation. Had he mentioned how this was the worst plan ever?

Two more Daleks were approaching. They weren't particularly well-hidden, and as soon as they were in visual range, it wouldn't matter that their life signs were disguised. "Here's what we're going to do," he whispered. "I'm going to distract them, you get down there and get your mother."

Solemnly, Violet shook her head no. "We can't get separated." Loosening her arm from where it was tangled with Greg's, she looked down and grabbed the watch on the young man's hand, ripping it free.

Before the boy could yelp in pain and before the Doctor could hold her back, she approached the Daleks. "I've escaped," she informed them. "You should be very cross with me."

One of them raised a weapon and his hearts stopped. Self-sacrifice and personal stupidity were two separate things, and he thought he'd taught her that over the years. An orangish pinkish beam shot out from the Dalek—probably some sort of stun weapon (Daleks employing stun technology? Nothing made sense any more).

It hit Violet square in the chest, and he couldn't even scream for her not to do it, it happened so fast. The girl's thumb slammed through the face of the digital watch and her entire body convulsed. The energy flowed back out of her and into the two creatures, before they could react, make typical Dalek clever observations or alert the others as to the situation.

The explosion was brilliant, that was the only word for it. There was nothing quite like the smell of burnt Dalek flesh. It was loud, though, too. Others would be here soon.

Which is why he rushed up to her when her knees hit the ground with a dull, painful-sounding thud. "That isn't healthy," the Doctor whispered, grabbing one arm as Greg grabbed the other and they hauled her to her feet.

She looked dazed and tired, but not necessarily confused. "They're looking for the Vortex."

Oh hell. He didn't even want to know what that meant but it couldn't be good. Dragging her toward something ugly and metallic that looked like a lift, he sighed. "Lets just get your mum and get out of here before Jack runs out of negotiation tactics."

He felt her draw in a long, silent breath, and he knew something was happening. It wasn't just his ability to read a situation—he could feel it in the air, the psychic waves radiating off of her.

Greg's mouth opened and closed once or twice, his eyes wide with surprise. "Vi—Vi…what's going on…" For the first time that day, Greg dared to look him square in the eye. "What's going on with her? What is this?"

The Doctor stared at the fiery pink swirls behind her eyes, wondering just what she'd done to herself now, just what sort of power she'd managed to harvest and hold within herself. Letting go over her hand, he made a decision. "I'm going to get Rose. Stay here with her."

The girl's hand grabbed hold of his sleeve, which was rolled up to the elbow still. She twisted it around in her fingers. "No. They're waiting for you."

He felt the energy runoff beginning to trickle into him, it burned his mind enough that he pulled back in shock. She wasn't the only mind tied into whatever link she'd generated. He could feel some other entity—two of them, actually. There was also the Void—she could reach out and touch it. This was dangerous and he didn't like it.

Her hand reached for him again, brushing just above his skin, jolting him with just what she was barely able to contain, and he had to rip his arm away. "Violet, you have to dump that power. I'm serious. This is not healthy." The first time she might have blown the Dalek out of necessity—it looked as if she was being tortured, from what he'd seen in the cell. But this last time—she'd clearly enjoyed it. She liked the focused power flowing through her. "Vi, if you don't let go of it, this regeneration's going to start going wrong. Yes, you have an excess of energy, but you can't direct it however you please—you need to just let it run off on its own. You're not done rebuilding yourself yet."

Greg rubbed the girl's arm. "Vi, you should listen to him, if it's serious. It sounds serious."

It IS serious, you idiot, the Doctor almost shouted as the lift, which was no more than a glorified platform with no walls, came down past the floor, and he saw the dozen or so Daleks, weapons trained upon them. Could it somehow be possible for this day to get a little worse?

Greg let out a sharp gasp, looking from Violet to the Doctor for some sort of inspiring save.

The Doctor had to admit that he had nothing. Violet had better not try to destroy them. She had an excess of energy right now, but it wasn't infinite. There were too many of them, and she'd only managed to direct it in the context of making them shoot her first which was not an idea he liked.

Raising his hands slowly, the Doctor shrugged.

But then he understood.

It had all been a trap. A very, VERY elaborate trap. Torchwood had been infiltrated for who knew how long in this dimension. They'd taken Rose intentionally—they had a purpose for her. He assumed the Daleks thought that she could somehow tap into Bad Wolf and the Vortex, even thought they were in the Void.

The Doctor'd been dragged here…Violet'd been tricked here…even her regeneration was part of the trap.

And they were standing right in the middle of it.

TBC…


	18. Chapter 18

Jack had what his team affectionately referred to as a 'boatload of issues.' There was the whole 'trouble dying' thing that he had going for himself, plus the obligatory emotional trust issues that came with being, in all practicality, immortal.

One thing that happened to be marginally clear in his head, however, was just how bad his current situation was.

He'd played out the whole 'I'm not giving up the Doctor until you can give me certain assurances' thing for as long as it would go. True they couldn't just 'death ray' his ass right then and there…then they wouldn't get the Doctor, which had suddenly seemed like a time sensitive matter—probably in relation to the huge energy spikes they'd read coming off this mother ship the moment they'd landed. But Daleks didn't have what you'd call…patience. They were very into the whole shoot now, ask questions later aspect of taking over the universe.

As he stood in the grand hall-like structure, he looked around at the sea of Daleks stuffed into every nook and cranny of the metallic hive-like structure, wondering just where he'd gone wrong in his life. He'd been first in his class, became a Time Agent, lost two years of his life, became a rogue, became a hero, died, became immortal, took over as lead of his very own branch of a slightly evil organization, met himself in a parallel universe, found someone he thought was dead, alive and well in said parallel universe…and was standing in a room full of creatures that he was quickly coming to consider to be his own personal worst enemies.

This… was badness. Badness of new and unprecedented proportions. He'd run out of things to talk about. Jack could run at the mouth with the best of 'em. But he lacked the Doctor's ability to… prattle. Only word for it. Either way, he was fresh out of mouth running and prattling. He was standing in front of a white Dalek, trying to make a deal for a Doctor the Daleks already had, they just didn't know they did.

"I just mean… I gave you the girl, right? And I have the Doctor. I'm just asking that you give Earth a little bit more time." Right, like that'd work. These things had managed to build ships within the Void—within the nothingness. From God only knew what. They really weren't all that amused by his annoying human antics.

The Dalek informed him that he was not in a position to make demands, but that Daleks would hold position until the Doctor had changed hands.

It wasn't a reprieve, but it was a little more time. Basically until the Daleks that followed him back out of the Void figured out he was full of shit, and then Jack would find out just how immortal he'd become.

He only hoped the Doctor could manage to use it wisely.

As he followed the Daleks to the shuttle-like ship that would make the jump back out of the Void, he felt as if he was being dragged down, the energy being zapped right out of him. Almost like a fast-acting sedative, except he wasn't incoherent, just exhausted.

"What is this?" the white Dalek asked, the other metal creatures stopping him from entering. Their guns swiveled to face him.

This was when he noticed his hand glowing yellow…the rest of him too, for that matter. He felt the energy…whatever that force was that was within him, keeping him alive well past the point any normal human being would have been a splatter on the wall.

Jack had no idea what it meant, but it couldn't be good. He also was really, REALLY not getting off of this ship now.

XYZ

Behind him, Mickey heard the roof door swing open. He drew in a few slow, shallow breaths, trying to imagine how this could possibly get worse.

The woman with the gun looked past him, to whoever was walking across the roof. "I told you to stand down."

Forgetting entirely about the part where this lady was getting ready to shoot him, Mickey spun around to look at Pete. That was totally unexpected. Pete with his hands full was equally unexpected—gun in the right, trained on the woman and mobile phone in the other.

The woman's gun never moved from Mickey. "I don't take orders from you," she hissed. "I take them from the director."

Pete never looked away from her, but he turned his attention back to the phone. "No, Love. Stay where you're at. You're safe in there. Let us sort this." Without saying goodbye, he hung up, sliding the phone into his pocket and giving the woman his full attention. "Then you have your orders—stand down."

The woman's face twisted in denial.

Mickey himself was having a bit of trouble with what was being implied with the last. No one knew who the director was. Well, not at their level. Seven was as high as you could go without being on the board, and there weren't a whole lot of level eights running around. There was no way in hell Pete was the man on top.

Pete stopped about ten feet away from Mickey, and he was thankful. Spooking the lady wasn't a great way to keep him from being pumped full of metal. "He's dead. The board is deposed. And since I've been here the longest, I'm putting in for the position."

Denial twisted into anger, her eyebrows dropping and a scowl tugging down on her plum coloured lips, but the gun never wavered. "This is a coup."

Pete gestured for Mickey to step towards him. "Call it whatever you want. The Director was working for the Daleks. This place has been corrupt for a long time. It's stopping now."

With a nod, Pete urged Mickey toward him again. Mickey supposed he was just going to have to trust Pete on this one. He took one step away from the woman, and the generator, and the air around him exploded. A second later, there was a dull thud.

When he dared open his eyes, he stared at Pete in shock. Well, not so much at Pete, but at his smoking gun. "Wha?" He didn't even know Pete carried a weapon, much less would actually use one.

"She was going to shoot you anyway," he explained coldly. "We have work to do."

Mickey looked back up into the sky at the Daleks, who seemed to have found a holding pattern, waiting for orders. "The generator--"

Pete nodded. "Fine. But don't set it off now. They're not doing anything. The pulse won't scramble their sensors for long enough—they'll override far too soon. Save it for when we need it." The older man began walking back towards the door.

Mickey looked at the generator, prepared to sit on this one…basically waiting for it all to go to hell before he made his move. "Thanks, Pete."

Reaching the roof door, Pete waved a hand behind him in response.

His nonchalant attitude made Mickey smile. This was possibly the most alive he'd seen Peter Tyler in years. "Oh, and Pete—congrats on the promotion."

XYZ

He knew the moment the words out of his mouth that they were falling on deaf ears, but he had to say it. "Violet—we'll think of something. Don't do it."

And sure as no companion was capable of not wandering off, Violet was not capable of listening to him. The glowing behind her eyes increased to a pink blazing dawn-like fire and he felt the connection increase—she was drawing energy out of everything—the air, the Daleks…HIM. He'd say she shouldn't be able to do that, but she always was a little over-achiever.

Grabbing her by the jacket, the Doctor tried to yank her back into the lift, even if the close contact was painful to his mind. He'd had neural implosions that weren't this bad, but he still had to somehow find a way to make his eyes focus before she did something stupid. Well, stupider than usual for Violet. Some day a Tyler would listen to him, and he'd have a massive brain haemorrhage.

Without any sort of catalyst, the plasma-like energy exploded from her body, directed forward at the hoard of Daleks.

Greg had already put an arm to his eyes the moment she'd started glowing, the Doctor was slower to respond, however, and almost didn't get his face covered before shrapnel began flying at them. He heard the sounds of the boy coughing on the acrid fumes a second later.

Waving the smoke away from his face, the Doctor stepped out of the lift and cursed. First of all, no one ever listened to him. Second of all, things could only go downhill from here with Violet's regeneration, and third of all…what the hell was the yellow glowy thingy in that last cell?

The Doctor pointed to Greg. "Stay here with her." Like the boy would leave her alone.

But with her eyes still doing the 'I'm converting all this cellular energy into a weapon' lighting up like a Christmas tree thing, he wasn't entirely sure he trusted the girl alone. If she managed to dissipate that energy, she was going to crash…hard. If not… well, he didn't want her wandering off.

The kid was frightened. That much was written on his face. He didn't know if it was for Violet or of her, and he didn't stick around to find out. Jogging past the hot metal bits, he skidded at the open door to the last cell. It looked like the outside of the lift…rubble everywhere—bits of he didn't know how many Daleks littering the tiny cell. They might be dead—but they'd achieved one of their goals.

Bastards had done it. They'd somehow tapped into the Vortex from WITHIN the Void. Hell, hell, shit dammit and hell.

Firing up the sonic screwdriver, he began working on the shackles at Rose's wrists, trying not to come into contact with her skin. She was also slightly psychically radio active right now, or at least that was a safe assumption with the light emanating from her eyes.

He was about to ask a stupid question, to which he'd no doubt get a stupid answer. "Rose, can you let go of it?"

She was in so much trouble if he had to use another regeneration on her. He'd never let her live it down. Ever.

As soon as her feet were free, she slumped forward and he barely caught her with his shoulder, Vortex energy whirling around them both. "Rose, come on. You need to let it go…for Violet. I don't think she can shut it off. She's sucking the Vortex right out of you." Among all the molecular energy she was absorbing from everything around her. She was like a reactor, and she was about to go critical, if they couldn't shut her off.

Trying to stand, Rose wobbled on her feet for a moment, looking at him but not seeing. "Can't."

All but dragging her out of the cell, the Doctor pleaded. "Violet can't let go of it. We have to shut it off before she fries her mind. Again." For a girl who'd never thought much of the whole 'psychic stuff' aspect of being a Time Lord, she sure had managed to go above and beyond what might have driven another, more experienced Time Lord mad.

Which was still an unpleasant possibility that he was living with. "She's going to do herself permanent damage."

Taking deep breaths, Rose tried to steady herself as they went. "'S not me. I'm just…the conduit."

The Doctor's eyes grew wide. He was incredibly thick sometimes. "Get her back to the lift!" he screamed to Greg, trying to pick up the pace. "We have to find Jack!"

If bringing Jack here was also part of their plan, they were insanely cleverer than he was…but he suspected it was just an unexpected bonus. They couldn't tap into the Vortex from the Void. So what do they do? Bring the Votex in a vessel INTO the Void.

He was certain that vessel was supposed to be Violet—the Vortex did have a great deal to do with regeneration. Having a veritable battery with Jack… that was just the sort of thing that could tip this in the Daleks' favor.

XYZ

Jack shuddered, the life being pulled out of him.

Like poison from a wound…that was the only thing he could equivocate this to…the way the energy, that strange golden light, was being drawn out of him. The moment he'd weakened enough that he wouldn't resist, he'd been thrust against a wall, angular tendrils popped out of the wall, twisting around him and gripping him to the hot metal.

"It is—opening," the white Dalek said.

Jack had no idea what was opening, but it couldn't be good. The Doctor was welcome to show up at any point in time and pull one of his amazing last minute saves, replete with a grin, a wisecrack or two, and some brilliant and unconventional solution.

'He can't stop it," a hollow voice spoke into his head. It was ageless, sexless…lacking emotion. 'He is a passenger.'

Rolling his eyes, Jack shook his head until another metal tentacle shot out of the wall, wrapping around his forehead, pressing his neck against the wall. 'He's the Doctor,' Jack projected, temporarily forgetting any anger or frustration he had with the man. He was the Doctor, after all, and there was a certain amount of trust he'd place in that. 'He's the Doctor and he'll think of something.' The Doctor had, after all, somehow managed to escape certain-death and destroy the Daleks on Satellite Five.

'He did not stop them. The Bad Wolf did. The Doctor is a passenger.'

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

'The Doctor is a passenger.'

He had no idea what that meant, and it seemed to be all the cryptic voice would give him regarding the matter. 'Great. Thanks. So what about you? How's about a little save-itude?'

'The Doctor is the passenger,' the voice said again,

No. Not again—it said the Doctor was A passenger before. Now the Doctor is THE passenger. The energy still draining from him, he made obligatory struggles against his restraints and glared at the white Dalek. 'What are you?'

'The Space Between.'

Cryptic, much? 'Between what?'

'The Void.'

Jack waited, hoping to prompt a further explanation with his silence, but nothing was forthcoming. Well. That wasn't creepy. No, not at all. 'I'd still really rather not die, if I could help it.'

'The Doctor is the passenger.'

An audible groan actually escaped Jack with that. 'Thanks.'

'The passenger approaches.'

TBC…


	19. Chapter 19

Standard disclaimers, yadda yadda. Thanks to rosesbud for finding all of my words missing letters. I'm picking up new bad habits every day. Whelp, only a few more chapters to go, then that's it, so long, auf wiedersend, goodbye.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 19

XYZ

There was really only one solution to the problem. It became pretty self-evident after Violet incinerated another two dozen Daleks between the cells and the main chamber of the ship. Not just blown up—incinerated. She was drawing more energy out of everything around her, including the Doctor, than ever before. If he didn't stop it, she'd power down the Daleks and their ship, but she'd also destroy herself.

If she lived, she was so grounded.

As they approached the main chamber, Rose became ever steadier on her feet. She was still a bit less aware of her surroundings than the Doctor would like, but he wasn't guiding her quite so much. Vortex energy slithered along his skin wherever he held her, and it felt odd. He wanted to stop all of this as soon as possible, so he urged Violet once again to just…stop. Of course, he wasn't sure that she even knew how, but he had to try.

The lift came to an abrupt halt on the appropriate level, and they pressed onward. Now, nothing was daring to get in their path, and the passage was entirely clear. Daleks were rather free with their lives, if it meant achieving their goal, but getting in Violet's way right now was just plain stupid, first of all, second of all, it was counter to their goal. 

They were getting what they wanted—he was certain of that. He just had no idea what his part in all of this was, except, perhaps to bare witness to what was happening every time Violet found more power to draw into herself; the Void was cracking. The shards stabbed at his mind as the barrier between all the realities shattered slowly under the strain of one girl with too much regenerative power and access to a large enough piece of the Vortex to do a whole lot of damage.

Before stepping out of the lift, the Doctor leaned in toward Greg. "I need to know how committed you are to this."

The young man looked at him as though he were mad. "I'm here, aren't I? A sane person would be at home, studying, not chasing after a girl who's an alien through a ship of metal savages, which happens to be floating around in Hell. What do you want me to do?"

Pulling the boy away from Violet, he whispered in Greg's ear. The boy nodded. "I suppose it's only fair."

Encouragingly, the Doctor slapped the young man's back. "That's it. Good lad. Besides, if we don't stop her, not only is she going to destroy herself by converting every last bit of her matter into energy, but the walls between realities will be destroyed, and that's when the real trouble starts."

Steeling themselves for what they knew lay on the other side of the lift, the Doctor and Greg stepped forward. They never made it off of the platform, however. An invisible force stopped them. "I know what you're going to do."

Turning around, the Doctor grabbed the girl's wrists. "Vi, if we don't do it, you're going to explode." Staring into those pink glowing eyes, he tried to find some piece of her that he could reason with. "You destroying reality aside, this is going to kill you. So please let us do this. Let us fix the Void and fix you."

Vacant eyes that seemed to be swirling with entire nebulas of existence stared back at him. Everything and nothing, looking right through him. "I can destroy them all. This ship. The Daleks; the Cybermen. I can fill the Void."

He shuddered and looked to Rose. "Violet, I know you don't understand what I'm saying. But it's a VOID. NOTHING can fill it. Please don't try."

She raised a hand. "I will fill the Void. I am the space between."

Rose seemed to know what he was on about, however, and grabbed Violet's arms, holding her back. The Bad Wolf energy flowing through her would not outmatch Violet for long, but it gave them a bit of a head start.

He gestured for Greg to follow him. "You'll thank me for this some day," the Doctor informed her, hoping he was right.

Eyes drifting slowly from the young man with bushy, over-grown hair and rich, dark skin to the Doctor, the girl maintained her effortless composure. "You are the passenger. The Void walls are crumbling. You must let me fill the Void."

Rose pulled the girl away, their inner lights dancing and mixing. He was thankful Rose was once again in control of herself enough to be of assistance. Seeing that Violet was well and truly distracted by the weird almost spasm like flickering of her eyelids, he took his chance. Stepping backward out of the lift, the Doctor sighed. That sort of power was addictive—it made for some rather challenging enemies and villains back in his day. He didn't want it to be her.

Handing the signal cloaker to Greg, he grabbed hold of the young man's striped shirt and dragged him along. The kid was giving Violet the whole concerned look-over, and would have probably been there all day if the Doctor hadn't yanked him along.

Young love was nauseating, the Doctor decided. Old feelings of thorough annoyance that had not manifested themselves since his ninth self managed to bubble up, somewhere in the middle of marching straight towards the teal Dalek (fashion-conscious of the thing, wasn't it?), as if he didn't have enough things on his mind. It was that special feeling—the one where he wanted to strangle Mickey, er, Greg.

Spreading his arms out wide, the Doctor announced himself loudly as he approached. "I'm here. You want something? You have me."

The teal Dalek's eyepiece focused. "We have all that we require."

He knew this wasn't going to work-but he was a man who could run his mouth, if need be. "What if I told you that the thing that was going to allow you to move fluidly throughout the universes was also the thing that was going to destroy you lot? I mean, come on—you can feel it. YOU have to be able to feel it. The energy she's absorbing from the very air around us, in order to make this work. No one is going to win."

But really, the odds of a Dalek listening to reason?

His odds were better at winning the lotto, getting struck by lightening and finding exactly the prize he was looking for in the bottom of the Cracker Jacks box all in the same moment than successfully inflicting reason upon a Dalek.

Little was as he wanted it to be, nothing was as it seemed, and still, the Doctor pressed onward, trying to buy the boy enough time, by distracting the main guards and those observing the teal Dalek.

It moved forward, its eyepiece twisting critically. "We know this."

Aww hell. That meant there was something else going on he didn't know about. Which was just… for crap. Because he thought he'd entirely figured out this whole evil plot thing. "Alright, I'll bite. Please tell me how this works to your advantage."

Especially in light of the way they were all slightly vibrating now, as Violet began drawing energy out of their fleshy innards on a cellular level. He'd had to throw up every block and barrier in the known universe to keep her from sucking him dry—distance was probably about the only thing keeping Greg safe, and that was only a momentary situation. It wouldn't just be cellular energy in a minute. It would be reduced to a molecular and then anatomic level. The destruction that would transpire would put to shame that moment when Rose reduced millions of Daleks to dust in front of his eyes.

XYZ

Watching the cloudless blue skyline, Mickey's mind began to wander back to what Pete had said about the board—that they were indisposed. How had Pete gotten rid of them? Convinced them to step down? Blackmailed them into resignation?

Eyes drifting to the body about ten feet from him, he traced the outline of blood on the grey sandstone tiles of the roof, dark hair spilling out of the severe bun and mixing with the sticky, coagulating mess. Maybe Pete had 'disposed' of them the way he had this agent?

Just what kind of man was Pete, anyway? Was Mickey going to have to watch Pete the way they'd kept an eye on the previous level eights?

He hated it when the rules changed and he didn't know what they were or which way the wind was blowing. In other circumstances, he'd have been thrilled that someone he trusted was in charge of Torchwood. But right now…suddenly… he wasn't so sure how much he could trust Pete Tyler. Especially if he went down to the board room and found blood-spattered walls and eight executives lying face down in their case files.

The heavy metal door behind him swung open. A man in black with a gun approached, and Mickey suddenly regretted having no weapons on him, perhaps more so than with the female agent—at least there'd been some discussion with her. He didn't think there'd be much discussion with this fellow.

Turning his attention to the sky for a moment more, he waited until the man approached before lifting a hand in a half-hearted wave. "Hey."

It was then that he noticed a gash along the man's broad nose and a darkening under the eyes. He'd seen some trouble recently—possibly in the basement with the TARDIS and her occupants.

Yeah. Being armed would have been a good thing.

XYZ

Greg just needed to keep out of the direct line of sight of a thousand Daleks. No problem—no problem at all.

Well, it wasn't entirely hopeless, the young man reckoned, especially with the Doctor engaging the blueish Dalek like that. If he could keep out of the way of their ocular censors, the blocking device that Jack had given them would (hopefully) continue work toward granting hi moderately safe passage through the sea of the most dangerous creatures in any universe.

That part was just plain lousy. It wasn't like you got yourself into these situations on purpose, or for no reason at all. Though, of course, Greg always wondered about the magnetic attraction that seemed to exist between the Doctor and trouble. Hell—even Violet and trouble. She'd managed to find the one out-of-place Time Agent working for a secret evil organisation in all of the UK, in that entire time zone, and they just so happened to meet outside Greg's hall. It was so unfunny, it was almost funny.

Sliding along a brass and steel wall, Greg managed to squeak past a bunch of Daleks that were a mere three feet in front of him. Talk about invading personal space with that one—if he lived the rest of his life without getting this close to a Dalek again, he'd consider his life a huge success.

Stopping behind a buttress just a few feet from Jack, the young man looked over the scene. Violet's mum had both arms wrapped around the girl, golden tendrils slithering around them, dancing with the blinding pink energy coming off of the girl like water arcing from a fountain.

He didn't know if she could see him, or how much she was aware of what was going on around her, but even without being able to see her eyes, for the hazy glow of energy spewing from them, he could see that she looked lost.

'I see you,' an unidentifiable voice echoed in his skull.

He wasn't sure how to respond. 'Violet?' he thought as hard as he could.

'I am the space between.'

Oh that couldn't be good.

And to think, a little over a week ago the biggest complaint in his life was how she'd almost let him be killed by a mythological creature that shouldn't exist in the centre of a maze that shouldn't exist. Now he was in a parallel universe, sneaking through a sea of Daleks to get to said Time Agent in order to keep the love of his young and slightly tortured little life from exploding and destroying a few realities.

Only conclusion: there was something very seriously wrong with him.

'Love makes people do foolish things.'

Clenching his eyes shut, Greg bit his lip. 'Vi, if you can read my thoughts, then you've got to know just how dangerous this is. Can you stop it?'

'I can fill the Void. I am the space between.'

Looking at the two Daleks standing guard over Jack, Greg tried to think up a brilliant plan. He was good for them now and again—you had to be if you hung out with the Doctor and Violet, but this really was their department. The truly brilliant, magnificent, shiny like a toy on Christmas stuff was their specialty. 'Vi…listen to me. I don't want to lose you.'

'You must go back with the Doctor. Do not stay here once the Void has been filled.'

'Violet, you can't fill the Void! Just stop saying that.' It hurt Greg every time she did. 'And I'm a grownup. I'll do as I please. Even if it's stupid—I'm staying with you.'

There was hesitation in her next words. 'I-I love you too.' And he knew that was true—without her even saying it, the feeling of it poured directly from her to him, along the link between them. 'It's why you must go. There's nothing for you here.'

'I'll decide that.'

'Every future I see is filled with death.'

It almost made him hesitate in his response, but he went with his instinct. 'Everything dies eventually, Violet. A brief time with everything I want, or an endless stretch of days without you. I'll take my chances.' And he could almost hear Captain Jack saying he'd just thrown up in his mouth. Oh well. It was put-up or shut-up time with her and him. Besides—Jack wasn't the one who had to live with the decisions that Greg made. So to hell with him.

'I don't want to watch you die young.' The thought was a bare whisper in his mind.

Steeling himself, he tried to muster up as much determination and confidence as he could. 'You Time Lords just think you know everything. Listen to me—you are not the only one that gets to make decisions here.' His stomach was in knots now, though, at what she'd said.

Well, he'd come this far and risked himself for her. He was standing in the middle of a room full of Daleks, trying to keep her from erupting into some kind of nova. He'd have to cross that dying young bridge when he came to it, he supposed. Of course, he'd probably change his mind when he was dying long and painfully from a gut wound on some alien moon an entire universe away from his family.

He still needed to get out of this particular mess in one piece. Why couldn't she just stop it?

Captain Jack's eyes met his, and he realized that she just couldn't stop. Once the valve had been turned on full blast, there wasn't a way to shut it off. Which meant he had to do this. And try not to feel too terribly guilty about it, if it saved her.

Pulling out the sonic screwdriver the Doctor had slapped into his hand before sending him off on this errand, Greg took a deep breath. This could work, couldn't it? He could do this. It was the second worst plan he'd ever come across, but it was all he could think of to get the two Daleks away from Jack.

'Violet, one last chance—then I'm going to do this. If you can figure out a way to stop it, you have to stop.'

'The Doctor is the passenger. He will stop the Void from cracking.'

'It's already cracking,' Greg thought bleakly. Why didn't she see it? Why didn't she see the way this was going?

Taking another look past the Daleks, to Jack, who was still bound to the wall by thick, angular pieces of metal, his skin glowing the same yellow as Violet's mum, he sighed then held his breath, prepared to engage in his stupid plan.

'Don't do it.'

Sending his apologies along their link, Greg chucked the boxy device behind the Dalek guards. As soon as they turned, he dashed to where Jack was—it should take them a moment or two to realize they were detecting mass from the thing, but other than that, it was entirely invisible. Which was all the time he needed.

Jack glared at the sonic screwdriver critically as Greg adjusted the setting, and then looked around himself at the metal holding him securely in place. "I don't think that's going to get me out of this."

Apologetically, Greg shook his head. "Scrambled egg setting," the boy whispered, finding the preset in question. "Sorry. I'm not here to save you," he explained, raising the sonic screwdriver to Captain Jack's head. "I'm here to kill you."

TBC…


	20. Chapter 20

You know the drill, I own nothing, I am nothing but dust on the wind. Rosesbud is the bestest beta in the wholest world. Est. Except for that part where she picks on me for not being able to spell or write complete sentences or remember to put all the letters in words. Just because I'm not, like, literate… that's no reason to go pickin' on a body. Anyhoo—merry Christmas and stuffs and stuffs and other stuffs… Like two more chappies after this one, yee haw.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 20

XYZ

Somewhere around his fifth life, the Doctor had put a cap on the number of companions that one could reasonably rescue, and stay alive oneself, at three. He was totally up over that mark right now, and he was sure it was going to kill him. This place was getting a little crowded with Jack (who hadn't even been invited on this outing and was now acting like a Vortex battery), Rose—who was quite welcome—she was capable of taking care of herself even when she was channeling the Vortex and only marginally in control of her facilities, Violet, whom he was going to strangle with his bare hands just as soon as they were out of this, and Greg—another uninvited party whom he'd already sent home. Usually one got out of the duty of having to look after companions once they decided to go back to their quiet little lives.

He was also having trouble keeping his little mouth running, trying to figure out what the final piece of this puzzle was, keeping an eye on all four of his companions. So the kid better just get on with it, before he ran out of things to say. "Come on, now, you can't really think that I'll just stand here, talking and talking and talking, and…well, flapping my jaw indefinitely, until the universe explodes and you're all disintegrated. You can't keep me in suspense like that—dying without knowing the answer to the puzzle! You must have some way to contain her—to cap her off… What's the point in letting her destroy you all? I mean, unless you want to let the Cybermen out of the Void. Which is just—not clever, let me tell you. I've seen some not clever stuff in my day, but disintegrating yourself so the Cybermen can have their chance, well that's just--"

He stopped dead, taking two full steps backward when the entirely too cheerful and colourful Dalek raised its evil death ray. Well, he'd just discovered this particular Dalek's threshold for stupidity. "You will save her."

That was all it said regarding the matter—and probably only did that to shut him up. He sensed another regeneration coming on. He was getting good at seeing those things now, those special, happy circumstances that inevitably lead to him getting himself killed. Oh well. Maybe he'd end up ginger next time around.

Violet got her ideal hair—long and straight and one single dedicated shade of brown—which just wasn't fair. What did he have to do to get some ginger hair? The universe was hardly a fair place—he'd certainly had that reinforced the hard way, seeing Rose falling toward the Void and being helpless to save her all those years ago. But this whole hair thing just bothered him.

Seeing Greg toss the box, he wondered what the kid was up to, until Jack's guards spun around.

Rubbing the back of his neck, the Doctor stepped forward casually. "Well, that goes without saying. I've known her since she was yay high," he held his hand up about waist height. "Back when she was fluffy and soft and adorable and actually listened to what I said now and again. Then she had to go and grow up and start thinking independently, which is really inconvenient, lemme tell you. Because if she was capable of listening, we wouldn't find ourselves in this spot. And really, that's what you lot are looking--"

Behind the garish Dalek, Jack screamed out in agony, a sound that seemed to go on forever, even for a master of time such as himself.

He had to act fast. The second the teal Dalek turned, he rushed towards Jack, who'd just gone limp, his last dying scream echoing through the room. Daring to glance behind him, he saw the fire go out of Violet's eyes, so he knew it had worked. He just needed Jack to stay dead long enough…

And stay alive himself long enough…

He fell to his knees a few feet from the captain and his former companion, something piercing his mind like a shard of glass, tearing straight through his coherent thoughts. A chorus of "exterminate!" broke out as the attention focused back upon the Doctor who was now at a severe disadvantage with the whole staying alive thing. The limit was definitely three companions.

XYZ

The energy stopped swirling around Violet the moment Jack was dead. He could see her eyes again; she was safe. But it wasn't over.

The moment the Doctor's knees hit the metal floor and the Daleks turned on them, Greg was pretty sure this was it. There was only one problem—if he and the Doctor and Jack got fried now, there'd be no one to tell his mum that he'd died in a horrible car surfing accident.

'You're not dead yet.'

Those words in his head inspired more fear than the word 'exterminate,' especially as everything around him began to vibrate, even the air felt alive. "Violet," he whispered. "Don't do it."

Before the last word was out of his mouth, the Daleks fired. Time, or his perception of time came to a screeching halt. Their beams stopped mere inches from Greg and the Doctor, and then flowed backwards, returning from whence they came in a fiery display. The metal monsters themselves became a blur, like a chalk painting being wiped away by a summer rain.

From the twisted wince on the Doctor's face, it was pretty evident that whatever she was doing…it wasn't good.

A storm whipped around them as the Daleks were reduced to tiny shards, all of the energy sucked straight out of every molecule of their being. It smelled like sulphur and oil and tasted like dust. Greg raised a sleeve to his mouth trying to keep everything out as the walls behind him eroded. Slowly the bonds restraining Captain Jack melted away, and he slid to the floor.

Not sure whether to help Jack or the Doctor, Greg hesitated. "What's she doing? We killed him. It should have stopped this--"

Slowly, against the wind and whatever was tearing at his own mind, the Doctor got to his feet. "She took it all out of him."

Oh hell. Killing Jack hadn't stopped her—it had made it worse.

The Doctor began marching through the storm, ignoring the lightening-pink force that was slowly weathering the inside of the ship to nothing. "They're right, I'm going to stop her." Only it wasn't going to work out just the way the Daleks intended—neither the Daleks nor the Doctor could have anticipated what would happen if she was cut off from the Vortex energy she'd become so addicted to.

Crouching next to Jack, Greg felt for a pulse and found nothing. No movement, no sign of life returning… If the Vortex was what was keeping him alive…

He'd just killed a man. He'd put the sonic screwdriver to a man's head and had turned Jack's brains into whipped eggs with just a touch of cinnamon and milk. Somehow, Greg would have to learn how to live with that.

Not sure what else to do, he flipped the body over, noting just how heavy Jack was. Getting both hands under the arms of his dead weight, he began dragging it towards the Doctor who was, it appeared, about to do something just as stupid as the stunt Greg had just pulled.

XYZ

Gashes tore through the sky, hot white light pouring through them, as if heaven were opening itself to the earth and some benevolent being was shining its radiance down through. There was something majestic and magnificent about it, the way the lesions of light poured forth heavenly rays.

Mickey knew better though—it wasn't heaven that was intersecting with this world—it was something else. "When they come through here," he asked, looking at the man with the gun, "are you going to try to stop me?"

Lifting the gun, the man shook his head no. "I'm here to make sure no one else tries to."

Just when he thought he couldn't trust Pete….

Well, ok, he still couldn't trust Pete, but at least, for the moment, they were on the same side. Subterfuge was a bitch sometimes.

The guard turned his back to Mickey, focusing his attention on the only entrance to the roof—the metal door he'd just come through. He should enjoy it while it lased, he figured. The tides could turn at any moment. He could find himself swept out to sea or abandoned on dry land in the blink of an eye.

He wondered what Rose was doing, very briefly. There was fire in the sky, a blue police box in the basement and Torchwood was in turmoil—she had to be very heavily involved. He'd heard through the grapevine that Violet was here as well. He'd really rather be giving that kid a hard time than standing up here, waiting to throw the switch that would stave off the inevitable.

They used to have such fun together. He'd drag Rose and Violet along on a picnic, on those rare instances where he and Rose happened to be off on the same day. They'd eat sandwiches on some stretch of grass, or on the roadside, on their way to some outdoor adventure. Violet would insist on naming every cloud until she was blue in the face and Rose would laugh, declaring what a clever girl she was.

Those were certainly different times. Back when their influence was actually capable of keeping Torchwood from larger sins. Back when Violet was just a little girl who knew too much about some things and nothing at all about others. Even then, life hadn't been simple. Obscuring Violet's health records from the schools she'd attended, trying to keep her from being bored and out of trouble, working to keep Torchwood from being just too interested in their resident little alien…which of course ended up not working all that well. But it was hardly sitting on a roof with a man with a gun, waiting for the beginning of the end of the world.

After this, he was putting his foot down; he wasn't participating in any more apocalypses. Seven or eight really was enough.

Squinting and shielding his eyes from the rays as they swelled, filling the sky with painful hot light, Mickey's hand went to the lever that would activate the generator. Slowly the light was blotted out as Daleks began filtering through for some sort of final assault. This was it, Mickey knew. It wouldn't be long, now.

He prayed that the generator worked the way it had been intended to, and it bought the earth a bit more time. He also sent up a silent plea that with that smidge of breathing room the Doctor and Rose would find a way to solve this.

XYZ

As he reached Violet, the Doctor threw a glance over his shoulder at Greg, struggling with the dead weight of the captain. Damn Jack—didn't he have to just go and die-die on them? Which was only going to make this worse in the end. On top of making sure the universes didn't collapse he now had to make sure that Jack somehow found his way back to alive-ness once again, otherwise the timeline was shot to hell since this Jack hadn't met up with him yet, which would actually end up being an even WORSE thing than what Rose had done in trying to save her father—he and Jack had had too many adventures in too many times before Violet showed up. The thought of hundreds of reapers in who knew how many different times, trying to sterilse the wounds created by the lack of Jack Harkness… it caused him to shudder. It figured he'd keep the universes in one piece just long enough for them to realise the hole in history and proceeded to devour reality as if it had contracted a flesh-eating disease.

One thing at a time. Hopefully Jack would keep, and Greg could manage the man's weight. He had other things to worry about. He could feel Violet's body breaking down from mass into energy—he didn't have long to do this before the girl was toast and the Void along with her. "There's a smaller shuttle-y kind of ship! Over there!" He pointed to an air lock. "We need to get out of here before this thing breaks apart." The place was vibrating as it was weathered away in a storm of energy and wind—the noise was becoming deafening.

Leaving the young man to his own devices, he turned to Rose, who was still holding tightly onto Violet. Some of the Bad Wolf glow had dissipated, but there were still flecks of gold in her eyes. "Let go of her and step back. If this goes wrong, I don't want you getting sucked in, too."

He didn't go into any more detail. By Rose's wide-eyed look of horror, she was imagining pretty well what the potential undesired outcome could be. "Vi…please let the Doctor help you," she whispered, her eyes never actually leaving his.

There was so much he wanted to say to her—he only hoped that he got the chance. They'd been in each other's company for…an entire day now, barely leaving each other's side, and he hadn't said so much as hello, your hair colour really suits you, how's life? "Help Greg with Jack. That's another mess we have to solve after this."

Rose nodded, some of the emotion closing off in her eyes. Jogging over to Jack's inert form, she brushed the captain's hair from his forehead affectionately before grabbing his legs to help with the haul.

The Doctor turned his full attention to Violet. "This is going to hurt." Placing his hands on either side of her head, he grimaced. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. I just wish you'd listen to me now and again."

Without further preamble, he did the one thing he promised her that he'd never do, back when she was a three foot tall nip with a bad attitude and wild hair, in those days when he'd been trying to convince her to use her abilities to their fullest extent.

Well, he'd gotten that in spades, hadn't he? In fact, she was overextending herself quite a bit at the moment. So, no, he didn't feel all that bad diving right into her mind, tearing past the last of her subconscious barriers, past the regenerative jumble of oversized rocking horses, the sweet smell of pickle juice and first kisses…and going until he saw 'it.' Glowing, pulsing, overconfident, and not Violet.

"You're a remnant of Bad Wolf." He didn't know if it was a question or a statement. "An echo, or a memory—you shouldn't exist."

When it spoke, its voice was like fire. "I am the Space Between."

Never taking his mind's eye off the orange, fiery wind in the girl's psyche, the Doctor drew closer to it. "You can't fill the Void. It's nothingness."

The clutter of the girl's mind fell away and he was staring at something odd, but familiar—Jack had mentioned it in the TARDIS. "This isn't the Void. It's just a visual representation of what she wants the Void to be. And she's powerful—if she can project that onto others…but it's not real." At least, he hoped the Void wasn't filled with green jelly, tainted, chunky green cream and Cybermen fruit pieces. Then again—that very well could be someone's vision of hell.

The swirling fiery wind twisted itself into the head of a majestic horse. "She does not project. It is because she believes it to be."

There was no way Violet was that powerful. "And what about you? What is your part in this?" The walls between the realities were crumbling. The Daleks on this ship were destroyed, but the ones that were not were spilling through to the other side, spread over multiple realities, not just this one and his own. That he could feel through his connection with Violet's little…friend.

"I will fill the Void."

He could try bashing his head against a brick wall. It would make about as much sense as continuing this conversation. "Get out of her."

The animal head faded back into a blur of light and energy. "She is an acceptable host—a channel through which to pass into the nothingness."

Yeah, it was going to do that by vapourising her. "Get out of her." It was more warning than the thing deserved, but this'd be a hell of a lot less harder on Violet if the force within her left semi-willingly.

It didn't budge.

He began drawing it out of her, like poison from a wound, and the moment he began drawing it from her mind and into his own, he could feel her head trembling between his hands. An instant later Violet began screaming in agony, but the wind around them died and the ship ceased it's trembling. Now if he could just dispose of it without it doing to him what it had done to her…

"Where did you come from?" he asked it, even as it struggled to stay latched on to its original host.

"I come from the Void and I shall not leave it. Now go!"

The force of it being reabsorbed into Violet knocked him away from her and it was like being hit with a wave of something thick and painful and his back skidded against the ground a full ten feet before he came to a complete stop. "No. Get out of her! You're going to destroy reality!" It was like trying to reason with a frightened child.

"Hold everything together," it said directly into his mind. "Or I shall destroy it all."

It knew it couldn't do this alone, but it wasn't really giving the Doctor much choice in the matter. Scrambling to his feet, he saw Rose hanging on the edge of the air lock, trying to urge him with the worry in her eyes to hurry it up. "Fine. I'll do this. But you can't stay in her. After I do this, you get out of her. Into me, whatever. You can't destroy her just so that you can return to the Void."

"Oh Doctor." It was Violet's lips moving, but her voice was mixed with that thing. "It is too late for that."

TBC…


	21. Chapter 21

Standard disclaimers. Thanks again to Rosesbud for betaness.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter Twenty One

XYZ

Scrambling to his feet, the Doctor crossed the distance that had been created between himself and Violet. "Alright. If we're going to do this, lets get on with it." Drawing in a deep breath, he tried to steady himself for the trip back into madness. This 'space between' Vortex remnant was hell bent on 'filling' the Void, and was banking on the Doctor's love of life, the universe and everything to make sure that several realities didn't collapse while it tried to fill something that couldn't be filled.

'I am not a remnant,' a voice spoke into his head just before he placed his hands on the girl's face again.

It caused him to pause. "You have no life of your own," the Doctor informed it, speaking out loud. He hoped that it might draw Violet out a bit, perhaps inspiring her to take some small bit of charge of the situation.

'I was given life.' The girl's empty eyes searched his, flecks of sunset orange hiding in her pupils. 'I am the child of the Vortex and the Void. I was created to fill the Void. We all must fulfil our purpose. I am the Space Between. You are the passenger. You will see me into the Void.'

The Doctor bit back his frustration as he placed his hands upon her. "We're IN the Void!" He didn't know if it was possible for anything to be more infuriating than this Space Between.

He travelled past the larger than life play land of Violet's thoughts—rocking horses, jack-in-the-boxes, stuffed animals in various sizes and shapes, past the mental tinkering her brain was still enduring as her mind adjusted to regeneration, past the cells losing their structure and decaying into energy… beyond all of these things, in the very heart of her mind, the thing swirled like a tornado. 'We are not in the Void,' it told the Doctor. 'We are in a ship, in the Void. Locationally…we're in a place more closely related to the dimension in which the inside of the TARDIS resides than we are in the Void.'

Since when had the Void developed dimensional properties similar to the Vortex? Was this some new thing, or some aspect of hell that he'd been previously unaware of? 'How am I to do this? And be quick—the Daleks are now in seven realities, waiting for orders. It will not take them long to figure out that there are no orders coming for them.'

A flaming hand reached out to him, hot green tongues whisping off of the fingers of it. 'Come with me.'

Oh that so sounded like a bad idea. But what choice did he have? He had to close this rift with the Void, or all of the universes would be in a load of trouble. Tentatively, the Doctor placed the hand belonging to his mind's eye in the fiery grasp of the _Space Between. _'Tell me what needs to be done.'

XYZ

Rose took both of Jack's hands, folding them over his chest. She remained beside him on the floor, torn between wanting to urge the Doctor to hurry up, and wanting to stay with her friend. She'd thought he was dead—had mourned for him so long ago that it felt like a whole lifetime away from her here and now. But here Jack was—betraying her and Violet in one moment, trying to save them in the next.

She'd never understand Jack, but she did trust him. He'd done what he felt he needed to—that she could trust in. What she didn't trust was his ability to make good decisions. He'd proven that back during the Blitz.

And now, here he was, dead. He wasn't supposed to be, apparently. At least, that's what she'd gathered from the Doctor. Seventeen years since she'd seen Jack last, and he hadn't aged a day. It made her feel a little strange, having so much time spread across her own features. This was probably the last year she could claim to be in her mid thirties. It'd all be 'late thirties' from here. She had no idea how she felt about that; the only thing constant was change and time marched ever onward for those taking the earth-bound route. Ageing was perfectly normal. It was the… linear thing to do. It figured that both Jack and the Doctor would find some way to skip out on that.

Greg was standing behind her, she could hear him shifting back and forth on his feet uncomfortably. He'd done this, and he was trying to come to terms with that. Taking a life was never easy, no matter the circumstances—but it shouldn't be. If it were ever easy, even if it was justifiable, it wouldn't make them any different than the monsters they faced. She couldn't help him come to terms with that; especially when she had her own grief.

She brushed the hair from his forehead again. "Stupid Jack. Just couldn't stay put, could you?"

Of course, how many times had the Doctor told her not to run off, to stay where she was, not to touch anything…and a zillion other warnings…and when had she ever listened? That's why it had been her idea to strand Violet while they dealt with this problem. It had been the Doctor's idea to stuff her in Cardiff with her friend, in the hopes that Greg could keep her occupied and that the rift activity, which was supposed to go from a high level to just plain nuts very shortly would prevent her from doing anything stupid.

They should have known that not only would she find a way to do a stupid thing, but to drag not only her friend, but Jack along with her. "Thank you for trying to help her, though. I'm sure you helped her get here to begin with. We had some good times, didn't we? You always used to make me laugh." It felt weird, mourning her friend twice in one lifetime. "Though I sometimes wonder just how many of your stories really started out with you being starkers."

Chuckling, she bent to kiss his cool lips. "If there was anything I could do…" she whispered, pressing her mouth to his.

The jolt that ran through her was startling. But just like grabbing hold of a live wire, the shock caused her body to tense and clasp hold of his harder, and she couldn't pull away.

The world exploded behind her eyes, and somewhere she heard the young man who had such desperate feelings for her daughter screaming out to her, trying to touch her but being unable to get close enough.

The whole world fell away and there was only her, Jack, and a moment from so long ago that she'd forgotten. _I bring life_.

XYZ

Greg felt all of the blood rush out of his brain when Violet's mother began trembling the moment her lips touched Captain Jack's. A fiery light erupted between the two of them, and he shielded his eyes for a moment, but instinct borne of a year of the Doctor's idea of fun urged him forward. He tried to grab the woman, to pull her away from Jack, but he couldn't—his hands stopped a few inches from her shoulders, repelled by a familiar golden light.

Yelling for her to stop, Greg lunged again and was stopped. He couldn't tell what was happening, for the brightness that engulfed them, but he knew it couldn't be good. Especially when the light died away and Rose slumped across Jack's chest.

Finally Greg could approach. Kneeling beside them, he felt Jack's throat—still no pulse or sign of life. If anything, his skin was colder now than it had been when they'd dragged him into the shuttle. His other hand searched for a pulse on Rose's neck, but found nothing. Her skin was even colder than Jack's.

Something lurched within him—this wasn't natural, it wasn't normal, and he wasn't going to stand for it.

Getting to his feet as quickly as possible, he made for the air lock, but stopped short of leaving the shuttle. A hot wind was whipping past the threshold so fast that it nearly took his breath away. There was no point in screaming into it for the Doctor—he couldn't so much as hear himself think, now that he was on top of it. Taking a step back, it was again silent. Amazing.

Still—he had to do something. Complacency wasn't an option. If something wasn't done, both Violet's mother and Captain Jack were lost. Clenching his eyes shut, he reached out, trying to find Violet, wondering if he could talk into her head as she'd spoken to him before. 'Vi—Violet…It's Greg… Your mum. Something's happened. I think she's dead. Jack's dead."

A screeching howl tore through his mind. It felt like a human cry and that of some kind of mythical entity, both tearing through his skull simultaneously like machetes—kind of blunt, but able to do a lot of damage.

Putting both hands to his ears, he dropped onto his knees, unable to make it stop. 'Violet! Violet…if you can help her…'

But he was calling out to someone—something so impassioned he wasn't sure that she could comprehend him. He'd been waiting and waiting for the part in which she'd come back to him, and they could start over. He could see that wasn't going to happen now—whatever this howling creature was, it had hold of her and was not letting go.

XYZ

The Doctor had reached through this thing's connection to the Void and began culling the tears in reality. According to this thing that called itself the Space Between, he had to pull them into himself—a task he wasn't even sure he could perform on a good day. For as emotionally and physically worn as he was at the moment, he would have had an easier go at stopping or reversing the flow of time—a monumental task at the best of times.

This thing didn't care though. It knew he'd try to do anything to stop the collapse of several universes, and so it was going to get its way—it was going to get whatever sort of weird transcendental passage it sought to the Void because of the tears it had created.

The only portion of this equation that he so far had no solution for (other than that whole un-dead-ifying Captain Jack thing), was what to do with the Daleks when this was done. If he was closing the barriers between the worlds, how was he going to pull the Daleks into the Void? More importantly—how was he going to do it before the Daleks realised that they would never get orders from their mother ship?

'Ye of little faith, Doctor,' the Space Between chirped in his head—it was a cross between amusement and annoyance, a hard balance to strike. 'I am more than I appear to be.'

With that, the Doctor felt the thing somehow double-back—he had passed through the Space Between creature and reached out to the furthest regions of the Void, and now it had reached through him, extending itself past the tears, out of the Void and into the universes. Violet was going to burn up if this thing pursued its agenda any further—she was already close to becoming more energy than matter, and if that happened, there truly would be no chance of saving her.

Why? he wondered. Why did this thing need her? Why did it need to kill her to do this?

'I saw her the moment I was created. She created me. I created her'

He felt the rush, the pull of the Daleks being tugged back into the Void. 'No riddles. Just get this done.'

'So that you can save her? I have told you—she cannot be returned to you.'

The feeling of the Daleks reentering the Void through the cracks that he was barely holding in to a single location was odd—heavy and stabbing, thick and drowning. They were in his mind. It felt as if they existed only in his skull. 'Why?' he asked the thing, not entirely sure he wanted an answer.

There was a pause as it concentrated on pulling the Daleks back inward. 'She offered. I accepted.'

Oh yeah, the Doctor bought that. 'Excuse me if I don't believe you.' Violet was capable of doing some really stupid things, but he didn't believe that she'd go quite that far. 'I just can't quite imagine her saying yes, use me as a step-stool, and then kill me.'

He sensed conflict in the thing. 'She said so in her thoughts; she did not need to acquiesce in words.'

Jaw clenched in concentration as much as anger, the Doctor dared to push the thing. 'But she didn't say so in words. There is a far cry between wishful thinking and full-knowledge consent. Between temptation and action.' It was all his mind could do to hold on to the edges of the Void and still hold this conversation. 'You used her.'

A cry howled through his head, icy shrill and high-pitched. 'The Bad Wolf! Not the Bad Wolf…'

Suddenly, the Doctor's consciousness was tossed out of Violet's head. His hands still on her face, they both trembled for a moment, and then her physical form dissipated in a flash, the soft, rosy light hovering where the form of the girl once stood. The Doctor fell backward, landing hard on the deck, staring up at the mist. "Oh no. Violet." His mouth went dry.

"Go now." It was Violet's voice, not the thing. "Mum needs you."

The figure dissipated as though it had never existed; as if the girl had never been there.

The Doctor couldn't breathe, but somehow managed to get to his feet when he saw Greg practically fall out of the airlock, as if something holding him in had been released. The ship began trembling with this, and the destruction of it seemed inevitable. "Doctor! Violet's mum--" He started off at and even pace but was soon jogging toward the young man, who collided into him, calling repeatedly for Violet. "Where is she?"

The Doctor grabbed the boy's arms. "She's gone." His jaw locked as Greg twisted in his grasp, trying to pull away from the Doctor. "Come on, you can't help her. What's wrong with Rose?"

Still looking over the Doctor's shoulder, the boy stopped for a moment, as if he expected to see anything other than the chamber quaking, fixtures falling like Samson destroying the temple. "She—I think she's dead."

Twisting his hands in the striped arms of the kid's shirt, he tried to haul Greg with him, but the Doctor found it impossible to move him. "Violet is GONE," he said harshly, trying to knock some sense into the kid.

The boy's face twisted, like his whole world had come apart. A second later, the Doctor was knocked to his feet as Violet's best friend lunged for him. Both of them spilled to the ground and after only a half-hearted effort on the Doctor's part, the kid scrambled away from him, something in hand.

The floor shook as pieces of the coffered ceiling clattered to the ground and suddenly the kid was out of sight, lost somewhere, perhaps amongst the rubble.

Unable to feel or think, the Doctor made it to the shuttle and closed the air lock, stopping at the door. All he could do was stare at the figures on the floor, Rose lying across Jack's torso, not a sign of life between them. He could feel nothing of their presence. Nothing of the others, either.

There was the vague notion that he should get out his sonic screwdriver and force the shuttle to undock from the ship, before everything was torn to pieces. This plan was flawed, however. He'd given Greg his screwdriver half an hour ago, and there was nowhere to flee; he'd pulled the tears in the Void into himself. Surviving the ship's destruction to sit in a life raft for all of eternity didn't seem like the most ideal plan. Sitting here by himself…

Sliding down the closed lock, he continued to stare, his eyes seeing nothing.

He didn't notice the engines powering up or feel the lurch as the shuttle disengaged from the ship. He didn't feel the charge in the air as the glorified Dalek puddle jumper snapped out of the Void and into the Vortex.

All he could do was wonder when things had gone so horribly wrong. Greg was no longer his charge, he shouldn't feel responsible to the young man, but it was unavoidable, even if that stupid, well-intended but ultimately foolish boy had chosen his own fate; that… _thing_ could tell him otherwise, but Violet had not chosen that. She was only a girl and she'd been used. First by Torchwood, then the Daleks, then that thing. It had killed her and walked right over her body.

Jack…he couldn't even contemplate the destruction that had just been done to a dozen timelines. The only hope for his own reality was if, since Jack had died in the Void, the reapers would simply fail to notice. It was a best case scenario, but nearly impossible as well.

Still not aware of much other than the aching between his hearts, he crawled to the bodies, gently pulling Rose to him. There was so much he never told her. He'd had so many opportunities in the last few years—he'd been in regular communication. But somehow he'd never been able to say to her over the phone the very thing it had been impossible for him to say in person.

Staring at her cold, lush lips, the Doctor regretted that which he'd not done more than he'd ever regretted anything in his life. Things he'd never said, things he'd never done (while sober). Honesty had eluded him all of these years, but there was a sort of brute clarity in death. Something crystalline and perfect about the way he saw the world, suddenly.

Thumb brushing her bottom lip, the Doctor pondered something he'd said to her on their first proper trip. This was who he was—there and then. There wasn't anything else. How wrong he'd been…and yet, how right. There was nothing more than the moment, ultimately. Greg had seen that; that's why the Doctor'd been forced to endure him kissing Violet excessively when they'd first found her on the ship. He'd wanted to kill the kid, to ask if the domestics couldn't wait until they were safely out of enemy territory, but he was wrong. There had been nothing for them other than that moment.

How many moments had he had with Rose? How many had he squandered?

He wondered at the rattling he felt around him. He wondered if it would shake the shuttle apart. He wondered what lay beyond death, and if he'd see familiar faces there.

There was one bit of curiosity he could sate, however, before his end came.

Lips pressing to Rose's, he tried to memorize the feel of her cool face, trying to match it to a non-memory from long ago—the very night their lives had taken this strange, complicated turn.

It was impossible to pretend that there was life there, no matter how hard he tried. So he pulled his mouth away from hers, rocking the woman ever so slightly, praying that if there was, indeed, something beyond this, that she would forgive him.

TBC…


	22. Chapter 22

Standard disclaimers. Thanks again to Rosesbud for beta help. Well, kids, almost the end.

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 22

XYZ

When it appeared that no more Daleks were pouring out of the hole in the sky, Mickey held his hand over the lever, trying to calculate how long it would take for the generator to fire up. If he waited too long, it wouldn't work. If he did it too quickly—well, there wasn't much problem—this was just to buy time. It wasn't like it would be anything resembling effective.

So he threw the switch, listening to the generator come to life with a chug and a lurch as the Daleks descended. They had their orders, apparently. Seeing that he was a threat, a swarm of them came towards the roof.

The man with the gun fired. Bullets whizzed through the air, stopping at an invisible barrier just off the shells of the Daleks.

Rose and the Doctor hadn't succeeded, whatever they were up to. He wasn't sure what a few more minutes would do—but he believed in them. If there was even a bit of wriggle room for victory, they'd find it.

They were about ten yards off when Mickey froze. He'd had a good run, he supposed. Saved a couple of earths a couple of times, had a hell of a good life in this universe. So he wasn't sorry to go, exactly. He'd just kind of like to see how this all worked itself out. See Violet again, make sure Pete wasn't a total bastard bad guy.

He clenched his eyes shut against the chorus of "exterminate!" realising the generator wouldn't scramble the Dalek's censors in time to be of any use to him.

Life marched on—they'd get on without him. Jake'd find some new best friend, someone else would make sure Torchwood never got this messed up ever again…it'd be fine without him.

The universe made a slurping sound, like God cleaning the last bit of milkshake out of a tall, clear glass. Then everything was still.

Mickey counted to ten before opening his eyes.

The sky was clear and blue and beautiful and completely devoid of Daleks. They'd done it. He had no idea what 'it' was, but they'd done it.

But if they'd closed the Void…how was Rose supposed to get out?

That question was answered a minute later when a small boxy shuttle popped out of the nothingness. It was a Dalek ship, it looked like their design, but he just knew that it wasn't the Daleks. Whatever they'd done—those things weren't coming back out of the Void.

A second after Mickey let out a whoop of joy, slapping the security agent on the shoulder, the generator charged completely, letting out a low popping sound, a booming pulse. It travelled outward in a wave, encompassing the ship, rocking it violently before spreading out still further, encountering nothing else in the vacant sky.

There was a long pause and then Mickey's heart sunk to his knees as the ship plummeted towards the ground.

XYZ

The Void was thick and lumpy, like cold, hardening oatmeal. It would be like cement in a bit, Violet could feel it coagulating around her.

So this was death. Well, she'd already died once today, so that was a silly question. The first time it had been more like flailing around in excruciating mental and physical pain, passing out, and waking up as someone else. This was… something else entirely. The disembodied part would probably take some getting used to.

She'd been stuck in the Void before, lost in nothingness before her mind had given it form. It was similar to that, but she had a pretty good feeling that this type of isolation and loneliness was permanent.

As far as death went, it was kind of anti-climatic and, truth be told, kind of boring.

Oh well. Nothing to be done for it now, she supposed. Dead was dead. Once you were dead-dead, you didn't just… bounce right back from that sort of thing. It wasn't like you could go to rehab and recover. You know, forty days of detox and then bam, back to clean living.

Eternity was going to be very dull, Violet decided, if she only had herself and her droll little thoughts for entertainment.

'Who said anything about eternity, kiddo?'

'Captain Jack?' What she wouldn't give to be able to see him. Any sort of visual reference would be a good thing at this point. 'Well, I have this problem whereby I'm stuck in the Void and incorporeal, so, uh, yeah, eternity is at the forefront of my thoughts, surprisingly.'

She heard—or maybe it was felt—Jack sigh. 'She's all yours,' Jack announced. 'I tried.'

'Violet—you can change this.'

'Mum?' What was her mother doing here? That meant—

Seeming to know what she was thinking, Rose interrupted. 'Violet, just listen to me.' If she had arms, she'd have felt her mother's hands on them, the woman was that close, trying to steady Violet with her voice alone. 'Greg is still there, on the ship, looking for you. If you don't go back to him, he's got no way out of the Void.'

She wished that she could touch her mother, to get one last hug. It had been so long since she'd seen her mum. On the one hand, it was like they'd never been parted. On the other, when she thought of all the missed hugs and cups of tea, it was like they'd been away from each other for an eternity. 'I don't know how,' Violet conceded. 'I…I wasn't in control of the Void. That thing was. It was in me.' But she hadn't known; who knew how long it had been inside of her, waiting for its chance to return to the Void. She heard Jack sigh. 'What're you doing here anyway?'

She could practically feel Jack shaking his head in amusement. 'Well, kiddo, somebody let all of the magic smoke out of Uncle Jack and he's a bit disembodied at the moment. Your mum tried to put me back, but, well, stuff happened.'

Stuff happened? Well, that was an overly simplistic analysis of the situation. 'What's mum doing here?' Well, at least if her mum and Captain Jack were here, forever would be a little less boring.

'SOMEBODY was using mum like a straw to suck the magic smoke out of Uncle Jack,' the Time Agent clarified. 'We kind of figured out together that you're going to need some help kicking that thing.'

Violet didn't understand. 'But it's gone. Well, it's not gone-gone, it's everywhere. But it isn't in me any more.' She hadn't known what it was that was going to use the Doctor—actually she'd thought it was the Daleks. She'd been right to a degree—they'd intended for him to keep her from destroying the universes before they'd achieved their objective. That had been…she'd hated it. Once she'd opened the door to it, by absorbing and redirecting the Dalek's fire back towards itself, it had completely overtaken her. She'd wanted so badly to tell the Doctor to leave, instead of allowing that thing to use the Doctor's affection for her to its advantage.

Perhaps it was just her mind's eye, but she could almost see a golden, glowing hand reach out to her, her mother's fingers caressing her face. 'It's not gone. It was in you, now you're inside of it. We'll get you out.'

There was a subtext there that she could hear—it would be a fight, but leaving this place was possible. There was just one thing she couldn't figure out—where did she go, if she had no body to return to?

XYZ

Freefall. That couldn't be good, the Doctor thought absently, still sitting curled up on the ground, cradling Rose.

Freefall.

You couldn't freefall in the Void. There was no gravity, much less mass. Nothing existed there, not even the things that had been sucked into the Void.

Conclusion: they weren't in the Void any more. Which was surprising. Impossible really. He'd closed the Void. Sealed it, pulled the tears into himself…

Had Violet forced him out of the Void? How had she done it?

Her consciousness was still out there, then, even if her body was not. And he'd left her in there—in the Void. Oh no. What did he do?

'What needed to be done.'

It was a hollow echoing, a distant voice from his past—the Bad Wolf.

He didn't realize that he was holding his breath, until Rose shuddered in his arms and all the air rushed out of his lungs, even as she gasped. Slack-jawed, he couldn't draw in another breath as Jack also began to stir.

Eyes fluttering, Rose looked up at him, slowly focusing. "You should stop the part where we hit the ground at terminal velocity."

Mouth opening and closing a few times, the Doctor blinked as Jack moaned, rubbing the side of his head, then putting a hand to his chest. "Yup. Magic smoke's back. The kid does good work."

Finally the Doctor managed to nod dumbly, sliding his arms from beneath Rose, letting her come to rest on the floor.

A manic grin spread across his face as he began tearing at the controls, trying to splice some way into the system.

XYZ

Greg wasn't sure if he'd gone hoarse from calling out her name, or if it was from the smoke that was slowly eating up the oxygen that filled what was left of the collapsing ship. Some part of him registered that he'd been hit with multiple pieces of crumbling ship, some ripping the sleeves of his shirt and the skin underneath. His eyes teared from the smouldering air and from the thought of the loss of her.

He'd had no idea what the Doctor had meant, that she was gone, but he was about to concede that the condition for the possibility existed that the Doctor was right…but then he felt it—a rush of something into the space, and the rumbling halted, no more of the ship being tossed about or turned into wreckage.

The smoke hung in the air, unmoving as everything stilled, freezing like some weird dream. He looked around him, searching the vast chamber for the thing that was different—the thing that would explain just what had happened.

"Violet?" he called out. The sound seemed to die just past his lips—not just from the raw, suffocating feeling in his throat and lungs, everything seemed to be…caught now. "Vi?" he tried again as he frantically searched through the debris.

A few meters to his left, something shifted. Sliding over a twisted piece of metal, he saw the source of the sound.

Landing beside her, Greg's heart leapt into his throat. She was there, whole, completely alive… and completely unclothed.

Curled up on her side, knees tucked to her chest, her thick, straight hair was the only sort of covering she had. Sucking in a deep breath, as if it was her first, she opened her eyes.

He couldn't help it, and propriety be damned, his arms wrapped around her and held on for dear life. Burying his head in her hair, he caught the smell of spice and cream—just the way he remembered when he had her crushed up against that metal door. He needed to hold her close, but couldn't seem to get close enough. He needed—wanted—it was complicated. It didn't help that she was entirely devoid of the clothing she'd so carefully chosen this morning. "Vi. I don't even—I want to know. But Vi—Hell. You scared me."

The girl yawned, as if she'd been awakened from a good dream. "Gotta get outta the Void," she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his tattered collar. "You're here. I told you…go home. Said to mum…take him with you…" she sighed. "Thank you."

There was a desperation in those last two words, a subtext it wasn't too difficult to work out. Kissing her cheek, he brushed an errant strand away from her forehead just as the ship began rumbling again. Whatever had caused it to quiet down was no longer in control, and the destruction resumed in earnest. "You're a real idiot if you think I'm going to come this far then leave without you. Now…" Digging into the pocket of his smudged cargo jeans, he produced a small bright and flashy toy. "Pilfered this off the Doctor. How's about you tell me how to open the door?"

Blinking a few more times, Violet's eyes focused and she grabbed the Rubix Cube from him. Seeming to just know that he had it, and where it was, she also reached into his left front pocket, pulling out the sonic screwdriver. "One Ninety-seven B usually does it. 'Course, it depends on how he's feeling on any given day." She looked above her at the now barren ceiling and the cables now trembling and coming loose.

Twisting a knob, Violet put the cube on the ground and aimed the sonic screwdriver at it. Then she noticed her state of dress—or lack there of. One hand covered her chest and she pulled her knees upward. "Thought I felt a breeze."

Greg grinned. "Hadn't noticed. Seriously, though. FRED has a wardrobe, right? Sooner we get in, sooner we don't get crushed to death, and you stop freezing your…" He stopped, his eyes having drifted to her… chestal region. His mouth ran dry. "Yeah. Anyhow…"

Violet's cheeks turned a deep red. Well, it was nice to see that some things hadn't changed. She pressed the button though and the cube shimmered then refocused in the familiar shape of the oversized urn.

Trying not to think about Violet's state of undress, Greg got her to her feet, reaching to his pocket for something that wasn't there any more. He'd given back both of his TARDIS keys before going back to the 'real world.' And Violet… obviously didn't have any pockets. "Aww, dammit," he grumbled.

Seeming to catch on fairly quickly, Violet shrugged. "Here's to hoping he feels like taking pity on us. Or that someone forgot to lock the door." She tried it, and it was open.

A wave of relief went through Greg—he should have known. When it had been docked inside the other ship, no one bothered to lock the thing, and it seemed that either that habit was still in place, or FRED didn't hate them quite so much for nicknaming him Functionally Retarded in Every Dimension. He didn't care which it was—a piece of metal fell about a foot away from them, making an enormous clattering and causing both of them to practically leap inside the ship.

The second the door closed behind the laughing pair (sometimes, there was just something terribly amusing about being alive), he swept her up into a hug, swinging her just a tiny bit, trying not to notice just how incredibly… well, never mind. That had lasted all of two seconds—it was like trying NOT to think of a pink elephant. As soon as someone puts the idea in there—there's no getting rid of it. "I love you." The words were out in a rush of excitement at just being alive before he could stop them.

Her feet came to rest on the floor and she stopped laughing. Eyes locked on his, she gave his upper arms a firm pat, gesturing for him to let go of her. . "I haveta start the dematerialisation sequence." Her voice was just shy of a whisper, and very quickly she found something of interest over his shoulder to look at.

Unable to bear just how incredibly not dead and terribly alive and… other things Violet was, Greg's lips crushed against hers in a fast, passionate motion before he shook his head with a grin. "There's no Vortex to dematerialise into. No rush." The next kiss was not nearly as forceful, nor was it on her lips. He felt her knees buckling against him and he wrapped his arm tighter around her waist as he tasted her neck, tiny shivers running through both of them.

It might have been a tap, it might have been the weakest slap known to humanity, but her fingers brushed against his forearm. "Not…the point," she breathed—but she didn't pull away. "Need…clothes." Instead of making any action to prove her seriousness, her fingers wound through his hair and her mouth found his.

A long moment passed and finally their heads parted slightly, when neither of them could breathe. "Or you could… try to get us out of here," Greg huffed.

Violet grinned, pressing herself against the evidence of just how much he didn't want to do that. "Ta hell with it." Eyelids lowering, she began tugging on his shirt. "But if the Doctor asks…this never happened."

To Be Concluded…


	23. Chapter 23

Standard disclaimers apply. Thanks to Rosesbud for beta work on this chapter and the Epilogue. She am gewdest goods.

Yeah, I said only one more chapter, but there's an epilogue too, so bare with me. But dude, it's over. I wrote "the end." That, like, mest up ;)

XYZ

Crossfade

Chapter 23

XYZ

FRED landed uneventfully just a few metres off the other TARDIS' location. Violet supposed they couldn't call him FRED any more, he functioned near-flawlessly in this universe, better than the Doctor's ship, even. Turning away from the controls, she looked back at Greg, who was leaning casually against a wall, wearing a stupid grin similar to her own. "We haveta stop smiling," she ordered.

"What?" he asked defensively. "What am I supposed to do? Look all dower and sad? We've just had the best five days of our life."

As she put the ship into an idle mode, Violet tried willing herself not to blush. It probably ended up having the opposite effect, for as warm as her cheeks felt. "Nothing. Not a word to anyone. Nothing happened, nothing is going to happen, nothing IS happening…" she bit both of her lips closed and stared at the inner door, trying to get herself under control. She couldn't do this. She'd step out there, and they'd know. "The Doctor is going to take one look at us, and know why it took us so long to get out of the Void."

Greg sighed, rolling his eyes. "It's a time machine." Condescension dripped out of his voice like water from a sopping rag. "We're coming back a few hours after the Doctor and your mum would have gotten back. As far as they know, we just had a time getting out of the Void."

Taking a few steps toward the doors, Violet stopped. "You're crazy, right? He's going to take one look at me, and he'll know exactly how long I've been out of the time line. That whole control over time and space thing isn't just good for party tricks and …that thing." Suddenly her ears were on fire.

What made it even worse was when Greg started grinning like an idiot again. "I was wondering how you managed to…We're so going to have to try that again."

She sighed, finally managing to contain her fluster enough to open the inner door. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

Following her through the inner doors, he gave her a quick slap on the backside. "Not at all."

Her eyes narrowed and she closed the top button of the black knee-length knit duster jacket she'd discovered in the back of the wardrobe. Really couldn't go wrong with black and white, she decided. "If I didn't love you so much, I'd kill you," the girl grumbled, then opened the outer door before he could crush her up against the wall and distract her from settling up with her family.

Grinning as she exited the ship she could probably rightly now call her own, she was almost disappointed that there was no one to make a show to. Now she had to survive the entire ten paces to the police box without him…

Yeah. Doing that. Crushing her up against the side of the box and making her weak in the knees. They always got wobbly and turned to jelly when he did…that. With his hand on her spine and his lips… and his chest pressed against her…

Why did he do that? Why couldn't he just keep his hands off of her for one minute? Why were her hands sliding past his belt, wiggling their way into his pants, touching the cool flesh of his bum…

Ok, so neither of them had anything resembling self control. It's why it had taken her two days to 'find' clothes again. They were so doomed. This current…situation didn't bode well for them ever… like…accomplishing anything in their lives. Ever again. They'd just spend all their time in what she'd claimed as her bedroom, wasting away to nothing as they failed to do even the most basic things necessary to sustain life. Well, at least they'd die happy…

Behind Greg, there was an amused coughing sound. "Nice of you to finally join the rest of us."

Gasping, Violet pulled her hands out of their…embarrassing and unfortunate location, tore her lips away from Greg's and looked over his shoulder, feeling heat rising across her cheeks as she attempted to avoid her grandmother's gaze. "Uh, we had some trouble with getting outta the Void…"

Why did her grandmother have a grin of mock-exasperation spread across her features? "Uhh huh. So that's what they're callin' it now days." She shooed them towards the doors of the police box. "The Doctor's worried sick about you. Now get in there before I tell him what you've been up to."

Violet clenched her eyes shut. "Gran…" She was sure it was possible for this to get more humiliating—the Doctor could have caught her. But still. This was pretty bad.

The part that was making this the most difficult was that her grandmother seemed to be taking it all in stride. "I just hope you kids were safe."

Pushing the door open as quickly as possible, she skirted inside the ship, not even wanting to have that conversation with her grandmother. First of all… it was just weird. Second of all, her grandmother wouldn't have liked the answer. FRED had a marginally stocked wardrobe, enough food to get by in a pinch, but wasn't exactly full up on…prophylactics. Especially not in the quantity they'd have found necessary in the last few days.

Smiling innocently, she stepped into her former home, coming to a stop when she almost rammed right into the Doctor. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked like he was glad to see her and about to kill her, all at the same time. "And just what took YOU so long?"

Grabbing Greg by the shirt sleeve, she dragged him to her side for moral support. Or for someone to share the blame with—she wasn't quite sure yet how this was going to go. "Well, I DID have to push mum and Jack out of the Void, then I had to recreate a body for myself, molecule by molecule, I might add, which took a bit of effort, then I had to get out of the Void…"

"And that took you over a week?"

Annnnd….there she went with the blushing thing. She'd have to work on it—it was a huge tell. Not only would she be lousy at poker but it certainly wasn't going to trick any bad guys. "Five days."

He glared down his nose at her. "You've been gone from here for five days." His tone was a touch patronizing. "You've been gone from the timeline for almost two weeks."

She was almost certain she'd felt the capillaries in her cheeks explode with the amount of blood rushing to her skin. Oh she was just as bad at driving as he was. And how had she lost an entire week? How did SHE, of all people, loose track of that much time? "Uh…sorry? Hmm…" She decided to try again. "It's like…a nothingness and there's, like, no concept of time there, and… oh forget about it. I'm a grownup. If I want to spend a week in the Void I will." And she'd almost sounded as though she was convinced of it herself when she'd said it.

He grinned then grabbed her by the soft lapels of her wool duster and pulled her into a hug. "You know, real and true 'grownups' usually refer to themselves as 'adults.' Time Lady." He planted a kiss on her hair. "I'd give ya a diploma or something, but we seem to be fresh out of accreditating institutions."

That was…vaguely resembling approval. "Well, they apparently let anyone be a Time Lord anyway. I can't think of how you got YOUR qualifications."

The Doctor winced. "Regeneration and resurrection have made you RUDE." He slapped her on the back, stepping back to inspect her. "You'll have to work on that. Because, really, nobody likes a rude Time Lady. It's unbecoming. And Rude. It's very rude to be rude. And you." He gave Greg a stern look.

Surprisingly, at least to Violet, Greg didn't flinch or look away. "Yes?"

Shrugging, the Doctor nudged him in the arm. "Nothing." He didn't go any further, but the look he gave the young man spoke volumes. If Greg didn't treat Violet to his satisfaction, there still just might be the inside of a volcano with his name on it.

Violet interrupted the staring contest. "Where's mum?"

The Doctor shrugged, which was a reaction that bothered her greatly. "Catching up with Captain Jack, I suppose. Probably in the library. He's not been too keen on the whole idea of helping me find a way out of this dimension, and neither has she, really. Can't say I blame them, I suppose. But I have a timeline to preserve." His cheek tugged with a half smile. "It's all pointless anyway—Jack knows he's going to have to retcon drug himself and get rid of his memories of this time. If he tells me about you or Rose the next time we meet in oh, about six months his time, it could really make things bad. Him just not punching me upon first sight would probably do it. Bam. Reapers everywhere."

With a smile of understanding, Violet headed for the inner doorway. She knew how fragile timelines were. It was why she was making her goodbyes.

XYZ

After a quick stop in her room to collect some things, Violet followed the sound of the jovial, familiar voices. In the kitchen, Jack and Rose sat around the small table, laughing. It gave Violet a very weird sense of déjà vu—she and Greg had spent so much time laughing and fighting at that table. She'd come in here alone; Greg knew she needed some time by herself for this. But it felt so odd—familiar and yet not. Her mum, sitting in the TARDIS, drinking tea at the table where she'd eaten breakfast with the Doctor every morning for nine years.

For that one moment, she could almost pretend they were a real family. If Jack wanted to call himself Uncle Jack, that was fine. Every family needed a black sheep, she supposed. They could have eaten Christmas dinner in the ship, her grandmother tormenting the Doctor endlessly, Jack drinking too much and telling tall tales, Greg giving her strange looks while her grandfather pretended not to notice…

Having a real family would have been…

So weird, really.

She walked past them and to the food storage unit. It was a boxy little thing with curving wooden feet—it really did look like an icebox, truth be told. It was a bit more sophisticated than that. It created a small temporal distortion field around the food, preventing decay, so it was far better than a boring old refrigerator.

It was also quite empty. One egg, a bag of something that could have been chips, except for the part where they were orange, which was a touch disturbing, and an open can of Coke that had been in there since before Greg had left. "This is so dire." And a perfect excuse.

Rose slid around in her chair. "What, you're not even going to say hello? The first thing you do is head for the food?"

Closing the door, Violet grinned. She hugged her mother from behind and kicking Jack in the leg at the same time. "FRED's pantry is empty. I was hoping for at least a little something, here."

Yanking her around, Rose grabbed both her daughter's shoulders. "Always worried about the important stuff. That's my girl." Her mum kissed her forehead, grinning. "See I knew you could get out of there all on your own."

Looking at Jack, Violet squeezed he mother tight. "And I knew you two could undead-ify yourselves. We really are quite good at this."

Captain Jack gave her mother a knowing sort of look. "Which really didn't do us any good—we 'found ourselves' just as the ship was about the hit the ground at terminal velocity. So we really had lousy timing. But the Doctor managed to sort it. About four inches from impact, but he sorted it."

Rose laughed. "Oh come on! You wouldn't want to have it any other way!"

Breaking away from her mum, Violet had to spare a hug for Jack. "I think we'd love him less if he ever did anything in advance of the final moment. He'd lose some of that quirky Doctor-y charm."

Gesturing to the empty mug on the counter, Rose offered some tea to Violet. "There's something that may or may not be crackers in the cupboard. The world may never know. And yes, we'd love him less if he weren't nearly killing us all every five minutes. It's part of what made me--" She stopped short, as if there was some confession she couldn't bear to make.

Tapping his cup against the table, Jack rolled his eyes. "You know, the two pure as the driven snow love birds finally got their act together, you'd think you and the Doctor could somehow manage it."

Trying to hide a laughing outburst behind a cough, Violet looked away. "He's right, you know. Not sure what you two're waiting for. I'm tired of being an only child and siblings don't just make themselves, you know." Moving to rest her cheek upon her mother's head, Violet gave a contented sigh. "Seriously."

Rose seemed to be looking to Jack for support—who wasn't giving any. "Don't look at me. She said it. She's YOUR precious offspring."

Exasperated, Rose went back to ignoring him. "Violet, things're just a bit more complicated than that. There's all kind of things we'd need to think about… you for instance…"

Violet kissed her mother's cheek affectionately, trying to memorise the smell and feel of her. "I'm a big girl. I think I can handle whatever you decide." In an almost motherly gesture, she tucked her mum's light brown hair behind her ears. "Seriously. For real. You are the best mum in the universe. Two of them, in fact. But you should be happy. I'd be more upset if you weren't. Now." She straightened up, letting her hand slide down her mother's arm as she pulled away. "I'm going to get some pizza before we all die of starvation and possibly scurvy." Giving her mum one more saved up smile, Violet left the kitchen area and headed back into the rest of the ship.

Running her hands along the walls, she mentally made her goodbyes to the ship that had been a companion, nanny, friend and confidant for so long. She'd miss it, but it was time to move on…for everyone. Time in the Void had provided some perspective on some things.

Once back in the control room, Violet saw Greg near the door, mucking with the coat rack, while he watched the Doctor and Jackie at the control column, exchanging snide remarks. Oh yes, Christmas would have been so much fun with those two. So much fun she could charge admission and turn a tidy profit. "Hey, kids!" she announced, trying to break it up.

"See I told you!" Jackie grumbled before pulling away from the Doctor.

Violet decided that she didn't want to know. "I'm going for pizza before we die of no-food." She grinned. "Gran, why don't you come with? We haven't caught up properly, and you have to show me grandfather's new office."

Greg gestured for her grandmother to follow him out of the ship, which she thankfully did without protest. It was almost surprising, really. Sometimes her grandmother wasn't the greatest with subtext—and she wanted a few moments with the Doctor. Greg could explain the situation. She just hoped her grandmother wouldn't try to stop her.

Wandering to the column, she ran her fingers along the edge of one of the controls. "So, have you figured out how to get back yet?"

The Doctor was avoiding her—he'd taken fiddling with controls to a whole new level just now. His fingernails slid beneath one of the panels, running back and forth nervously. "Not really. Guess it depends on how you managed to get OUT of the Void. Doesn't help that the TARDIS is nearly dead, here."

It was hard, but somehow Violet managed to bite back a smile. "We'll think of something. The alternative is just messy—we'll end up cleaning your blood or gran's from the walls of the ship. Besides, your TARDIS still has a lot of life left in her—she'll manage the journey, just as soon as we figure out all the details."

From across the controls, the Doctor's eyes met hers. He'd noted the use of the word 'your' in regards to the TARDIS. All her life, FRED had just been 'the other TARDIS' and this place had been 'home.' That just wasn't the case any longer. "You grew up too fast."

Leaning to see around the column, Violet's fingers began trailing over controls. "I seem to recall you wondering if I'd ever stop being a child."

The Doctor's smile was fond, yet a bit distant. "And so human, and such a slob, and so defiant…" he trailed off, looking up at the coral buttresses, thoughts obviously playing behind his eyes, things he'd probably say. "I am happy for you." But he said it so solemnly, Violet wasn't sure what it really meant. "But…"

"But…but all the reasons why you never stay in one place for very long." He took a step closer to her, and she moved over just a bit, keeping the distance between them. "You don't want to get close, then leave people. But…that's life. If he decides to go, then he decides to go. Whenever he decides to go." Looking down at her shoes, she drew in a deep breath. "I'm…staying. The other TARDIS only really works here. Granddad needs help cleaning up Torchwood. And…this is home."

He must have known it was coming, the way this conversation had been going. But she was still surprised when he turned his back on her. "And Greg?"

Violet clenched her eyes shut. "It's his decision, isn't it? He's an adult. But we talked a lot about it. He's staying—even if it means the gateway between the two realities can't be opened again." She had a good feeling that this wasn't the case…but it was certainly a possibility. "Doctor—really. We know what we're doing. Well, as much as any two people can. I'm sure we'll make plenty of mistakes—this may even be one of them. But they're ours to make. You and mum should just do your own thing."

Go make your own mistakes, she wanted to tell him. Live a little. It'll be a nice change from running for your life. And possibly from. Monsters and Daleks and saving the world was all well and good, but what she had with Greg was too important. She'd personally give up the former to keep the latter, or even just have the possibility of it all working out, which she wasn't entirely sure would happen. The Doctor…couldn't even say he was truly unhappy/happy/bored/indifferent about something unless he was drugged, half unconscious, or the world was about to end. A life without honesty…what kind of life was that?

"About that…" Why did she sense he was going to give her a line similar to what her mother had been about to feed her. "I suppose it's alright that we haven't figured a way back, yet. We still haven't worked out the…details. About what your mum is doing."

Oh, it was painful, holding back the urge to roll her eyes. "Because of me? Or…more likely…because you're physically incapable of saying what's on your mind."

When he approached this time, Violet didn't attempt to distance herself. She allowed herself to be pulled into another hug, even daring to squeeze him back. For a moment, she felt like a little girl, about to be tucked into bed for the night. It was fleeting of course—she was not that child any more—hadn't been, for a long time. "When did you get so smart? Your mother and I…we'll work something out. But that is between the two of us."

Yeah, loads of not making siblings happening in the near future, without intervention. Giving him a pat on the back, Violet pulled away with a grin. "Well, get on with it, then. The way 'Uncle Jack' looks at her, I'm not sure if he wants to give her a wet Willy, or play tonsil hockey." Of course she'd noticed Jack looking at the Doctor the same way. "Anyhow, I'd better get going on the pizza thing, before I regenerate from starvation."

He rolled his eyes at her melodrama, but let her go from his grasp. "Glad to see how little things've changed. Same hollow leg, same penchant for exaggeration."

With a contented grin lighting her eyes, she went to the main doors of the ship—they'd all be ok. Opening the one on the left, she turned back. "Despite the distance and the…unusual circumstances, you two really were the best parents anyone could ever ask for. I'd have never asked for anything else than what you both gave me."

Closing the door, she used the unreturned sonic screwdriver to initiate the dematerialisation sequence that she'd set up during her absent fondling of the TARDIS controls. The blue box began howling as it faded and appeared in a pulsing rhythm. As long as she managed it as the ship was blinking out of space, she could do this. She still had just enough control over the Void for it.

It was entirely selfish—she was the only one who'd had a chance to say goodbye. But if she gave them a chance, she'd drown in their indecision and angst…and her grandmother would put too much pressure upon her mother to stay. Goodbyes could drag on too long sometimes, which wouldn't do anyone any good. It would only create ripe conditions for emotional strings to be tugged the wrong direction, which would create inevitable eventual bitterness. No, really—her way would ultimately be for the best. She always resented the way the Doctor made decisions for others. Hopefully this would be her first and last attempt at such.

Just as the ship faded, she closed her eyes, using every ounce of concentration and every molecule of her being to push the TARDIS through the paper cut-thin crack in the universes, navigating the cementy mess that the Void had become and sending the ship home.

Next: Epilogue


	24. Chapter 24

EPILOGUE:

When the ship finally stopped rumbling and arrived at its final destination, Violet rolled onto her side, moaning. "I think I just threw up something I ate four years ago." Hand on the white octagonal control column, she stretched her neck and got to her feet.

Across from her, Greg groaned, though whether it was at her quip, or if he'd actually been injured, she couldn't tell. It was a shame, the thing flew like a dream most of the time, but the crossing had been reminiscent of, like, every third trip in the Doctor's TARDIS.

Oh well, Violet thought as she pulled herself up on the console. If one rocky landing while crossing universes was all she had to worry about, then her TARDIS was far superior to the Doctor's. Despite only possessing thirty-seven rooms and the water running cold if you stayed in the shower too long.

She grinned at Greg. "The little TARDIS that could. What did I tell ya?" Well, ok, all of it wasn't just her completely awesome ship, something had happened with the path between the universes lately that had made all of this possible. If it was like a tunnel had been cleared when her genetics began to change as a child, then this was that tunnel being reinforced with large heavy beams. She could get there far easier than was ever manageable before.

This universe felt different than the last time she'd been there, too. It felt…more crowded. In her head at least. It was an odd feeling.

Running a hand through his bushy dark hair to get it out of his eyes, Greg shook his head as he approached the door with her. "Right. I'd like a heaping, steaming side of 'lets not land like that ever again' if I could, please." He slapped her backside as she opened the inner doors. "Y'know… they've waited ten years. Fifteen minutes really isn't going to…" he trailed off when she glared at him like she'd tear his head off. "Fi-ine."

Opening the outer doors, she swatted his hands away, then looked around a familiar room. "Of course. I set the coordinates for NEXT to the Doctor's TARDIS, and what do I get?"

Greg rolled his eyes, patting the closed door of the ship. "Inside the Doctor's TARDIS. There's a rule."

Murphy and Goodwin were really the only two laws the universe abided by. Three years with her grandfather at Torchwood and another seven roaming time and space had impressed that fact upon her rather firmly. "Well, FRED hates me. There is THAT to contend with."

FRED didn't hate them, necessarily. He just…liked to do things his own way. She suddenly longed for other Time Lords to talk to—someone to ask if it was common for a TARDIS to be so willful. She'd suspected for years that the Doctor's ship has it's own agenda, but she never had any idea what her own ship was about. She could tell when he was happy, sad or cross, but that was about it. The whats and whys always eluded her.

She looked around the cargo bay that had become cluttered in her absence, trying to remember being fourteen and thinking of how vast the space was. That was the weird part about time travel—you could go back, but you couldn't ever really…go back. It was the equivalent of returning to the old neighbourhood and remembering the free feeling of riding your bike down the pavement on warm summer days, carefree and in awe at the world. You could remember how great it felt, but it'd never feel that way ever again.

She'd been gone for very nearly ten years…longer than she'd lived here, even…and the place was still home, but it wasn't. All at the same time.

"I guess they're out," she said with disappointment, finding the cargo bay door. "Otherwise, really, I'd have been down here five minutes ago, seeing what had invaded my ship. Of course, the Doctor's old. He might be getting rather lax." She grinned, something a tad malicious glinting in her eyes.

Greg nudged her. "I'll tell him you said that."

Sighing, Violet dug the key out of the pocket of her black jacket. Oh well. She could probably make some repairs to the ship—there always seemed to be something to do.

"Who the hell're you, and what the hell're you doing here?" If the voice weren't so… 'choir boy' and high pitched, she'd have sworn it was the second coming of Jackie Tyler.

Prepared to give an annoying travelling companion a piece of her mind, Violet spun around, mouth open and key pointing at the offending party, but she stopped, staring at him for a moment. He was young, seven, maybe eight, a tad on the husky side—freckled and sporting familiar dark brown hair. The strange feeling in the back of her head… "I could ask you the same thing," she chuckled in amusement, pocketing the now-unneeded key. "And aren't you a little…young to be cursing like a little sailor? Where's the Doctor?"

The boy frowned at her, tugged on the edge of his solid blue t-shirt and gestured for her to follow. "You feel weird," he informed her, leading the way through the ship. "I hope you don't have lergy."

Greg grinned, trying to hold back a chuckle. "Girls're made of germs, y'know," he explained. Just what she needed—her other half siding with some snotty little mini-companion.

Trying to hide her excitement, Violet pulled her long, dark plait of hair over her shoulder crossed her arms over her chest. "Uhh huh. We're everything that's wrong with the world. It's fantastic. So what's your name?"

The boy shrugged. "Rom."

Odd name.

Then again, odd kid.

Violet reached behind her, grabbing Greg's hand. She wasn't sure if it was for comfort or out of habit. "I'm Violet, this is Greg." She was kind of glad they weren't giving full names—neither of them had used their full titles since they'd left Torchwood. They'd only used it there because the government got tetchy about having the tax forms filled out correctly. Violet and Greg, that's all anyone needed to know, and that's all they got, in most cases.

The kid shrugged as they turned into the hall leading to the control room. "Whaddever." He waved to the even younger boy up ahead. "I got 'em. They're, like, totally not evil. Even if they have the lergy."

The boy was sitting on the floor, playing with a wooden train engine, sliding it back and forth along the metal ground with one hand, and was twisting a knob on a broken transponder with the other. "She feels weird."

Yes, Violet felt weird to them, they'd established that. Truth be told, the boys felt quite odd themselves…they seemed to be on the periphery of her subconscious all the time too. Still, they acted like they weren't strange themselves or something. "Hello there," she managed, though. "I'm Violet. Who're you?"

The thin, blonde boy shrugged. "Sometimes Superman, sometimes Batman. I'm Spider-man when the Doctor lets me. But my secret identity is Branden and mostly I'm the Marshin Manhuntow. He shape shifts." The last was said with a reverent whisper.

Greg nudged her with his elbow, and she knew exactly what he was thinking—the kid was too cute, with his delightful dichotomy of large words used correctly and mispronounced names. He couldn't have been more than four or five, and he possessed a vivid imagination, made even more vibrant by spending his childhood in a time-space machine.

It was little things like this that intermittently made her want children. Just now and again, mind. After the way her last mission with Torchwood had been, she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready for offspring, and it seemed like the universe agreed. Otherwise, by now, with the copious amounts of unprotected sex she'd had in the last decade, SOMETHING should have happened. "Aren't you just the most adorable thing, Branden. We're going to see the Doctor. Would you like to join us?"

Thinking intensely, the boy scrunched his nose, then shook his head. "Naw. I lost my marbles in the control room."

Violet had to laugh out loud, rubbing the boy's head as Rom lead them onward again. She'd lost more than just that in the control room. It'd be centuries before they found all of her gumballs, liquorice and Jelly Baby bottoms (there was some kind of rule that you had to eat them head first) somewhere in the depths of the grates and levels of electronics.

In the control room, the Doctor was leaning against the console, arms folded across his green button-down shirt smugly, eyes twinkling. "I kind of had a feeling. You know you almost knocked us off-course and into a sun."

It took a lot of self-control not to grin. "Don't blame me—the mass displacement should have been minimal. I can't help it, if you can't steer."

A half-smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, the Doctor feigned agitation. "Ahh. But I'm not the one who can't park."

With a rush of excitement, she approached, snatching him into a hug. "FRED has a mind of his own, I'm afraid. I've missed you."

His head rested on hers and all was right with the universe. "Ahh, still blaming the ship, I see. Convenient, don't you think?"

His collared shirt was slightly rough against her cheeks and his bony arms cut into her ribs, but it was like Christmas, Chanukah and all those other gift-giving holidays all rolled into one. "I really have missed you," she reiterated, looking around the familiar yet unfamiliar space (WHY did there seem to be a fort made out of cushions near the coat rack?). "Where's mum? And who're these little sprites?"

She noticed Greg standing behind her, arms folded over his long-sleeve pullover shirt, offering the Doctor a tiny wave of hello. In the main doorway were the two boys, looking at her as though she might be the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and Father Christmas all rolled into one.

The Doctor scratched his chin then turned around, flipping switches and spinning dials, changing the course of the TARDIS. He gestured to the children behind them, one looking like he enjoyed his ice cream and the other looking like he never ate at all. "Those two precious little imps are Roman Macedonia Tyler, aged eight and three months, and Brandenburg Tyrol Tyler, four and one month." The boy's head shot up and the Doctor amended himself. "And three days. I think you'll be pleased to note Rom has your ability to find the most trouble possible, then dig himself in another layer or two or three or ten, and Branden swings like Jackie on a tirade and eats his own bogies." His back was to her as he continued to navigate the ship, but she knew he was grinning.

Ahh the stupid old devil HAD listened to what she'd said. Life was for living, after all. The important parts were all the side trips on your way to whatever adventure was possessing the soul at any given time. Her years with Greg had taught her that for certain.

The youngest one rubbed his teeny button nose, then put the smoke stack of his little wooden engine in his mouth. Rom hung onto the doorway like a little kid illicitly watching a scary movie after his parents had sent him to bed. "I don't get into trouble. It sort of… surrounds me," the boy explained. His piercing brown eyes twinkled behind large, full cheeks. He'd grow up to play some full-contact sport, or drink a lot of beer. Possibly both.

Violet had to smile fondly at the boy. "I used to tell myself the saaaaame thing. It's just a genetic predisposition to trouble. I'm at a disadvantage when it comes to staying out of the thick of things. Just admit it, and give in to the madness."

The Doctor pulled her over one more time, kissing her cheek. "It's been…forever, it feels like. How have you two been?"

Greg looked back and forth between the two boys who looked like they were more than a handful. "I suppose we could ask you the same thing, but I can pretty much guess the answer." VERY good. Things had obviously worked out with mum, and he seemed to be much more suited to boys than he'd been to travelling with a small girl…of course, it could have just been her mother's influence.

The Doctor crossed the control room to the youngest boy, taking the train out of his mouth. "You look good. The stubble suits you. Very…grunge," he gestured to Greg's burly chin before turning his attention back to Branden. "What're we up to? We're being good, aren't we? The most well-behaved gentlemen to ever traverse time and space."

The boy nodded solemnly. "We're bein' good for mummy."

Frowning, Violet drew closer to the TARDIS' residents. "And just where is mum?" It gave her a bad feeling, really.

The Doctor gave a careless shrug. "She's with Jack."

The ship lurched as it materialised and he gestured toward the door. "Go on, catch up. I won't make off with your ship." He held up a hand. "Cross my hearts and hope to regenerate… oh never mind. Go say hello to your mum."

The younger boy squealed in alarm. "She's MY mum! You can't have 'er…"

Ahh, some things never changed with the Doctor. Some things were probably always going to be too domestic for him. She smiled though. "Oh, she's everybody's mum."

Too curious as to where they were, Violet opened the doors of the ship without thinking about it. The exterior was dark and there were boxes at her feet. Something thwapped her in the face, and she realized it was a chain. Tugging on it, a single bare bulb came to life.

Oh great, a cupboard.

She felt like going back into the TARDIS and saying 'haha, very funny,' then asking if he'd done something even MORE unfortunate than naming those two innocent little boys after plants, and had named them after the location of their conception. Just when she'd thought adults had found every way possible to humiliate children…

Removing her sonic screwdriver (made hers by the statute of limitations having run out on theft several years ago), she popped the lock, then proceeded onward, past some dingy cells and up a flight of cement steps. She barely heard Greg behind her, but she felt him; she always knew when he was near.

The office itself looked like a disused railway station, she'd noted, when they slipped quietly past the fire doors. Past the water tower lay an assortment of cubicle type desks (sans ugly grey cubicle walls), one of them occupied by a brown-haired woman with short locks, back to the rest of the room. She was unmistakable, despite only seeing her rear.

The woman in the jeans and stylish canvas jacket was clicking on something, then pointing to the text on the oversized monitor.

Captain Jack came around the side of the desk, coffee mug in tow. Placing one hand on the woman's back, he inspected her handiwork. "Nice. That'll cut a few months of the translation."

Sliding a hand across the woman's back, Jack leaned in, kissing her full on the lips. Tongue may have been involved.

Violet stepped forward without thinking of anything besides how…horrible the whole thing was. And disgusting. "Oi, that's my mother, you pirate!"

They both spun around, startled. It was then that she noted her mother's bulge. She looked like she'd burst at any moment. Violet gasped, surprised by the sight of her mother so…pregnant.

Jack grinned. "Nice. Been a while, kid." Guess that meant he'd either been filled in on what he'd missed, after retconning himself, or his memory had been triggered. Which was almost a bit of a shame. Her first adventure with Jack had been a right disaster—she'd come within several inches of regenerating only to hop off to another universe and get herself killed.

Rushing to them, she hugged Jack quickly, and then returned her attention to her mother. Behind her, Jack laughed. "Well, now she's seen the inside of our secret base. We'll haveta kill her and turn the other one into a gopher-assassin."

Her mum explained that she was helping Jack out with Torchwood until the baby was born—TARDIS flight made her so sea sick she thought she was going to die…which was apparently always the first sign that another 'sibling,' as Violet had so aptly put it, was on his way.

Violet had to giggle. "See, my advice isn't so bad, after all."

Allowing Rose to pull both her and Greg into an enormous bear hug that more closely resembled an oozing peanut butter sandwich, Violet couldn't help but grin. "Well, she's parked down stairs. We could do something. All of us, maybe. Outside, in the sunlight even."

"Imagine that!" Rose chirped cheerfully. "Maybe have a bit of a picnic, maybe watch the clouds go by…"

Oh her mother knew her too well. "Just what're clouds for, then? Besides, a picnic would be the perfect way to catch up."

Jack nodded to his former accomplice, who wasn't so young of a man any longer. "Yuh huh. Except for the part where it's February and the weather's miserable. And three in the morning."

Raising a finger in the air, Violet tried to hold back her excitement. "I can do something for that!" Digging into her pocket, she pulled out a swirling red globe. "Well, it can fix the weather. Nothing I can do about the rotation of the planet. Without giving myself a huge headache, that is. Found this baby on a planet in the Ettin system, in a junk heap. Lemme tell you…insto-fog and monsoon-on-demand are fantastic for escapes."

She heard the patter of small feet when they were right behind her and the smallest one slammed right into her hand, knocking the sphere loose. It hit the grill floor, shattering into a million tiny shards, then sliding through the metal slats. "Aww, man…" she grumbled as the last slivers tinkled away to parts unknown. "That was my get out of jail free card."

Squealing "mummy!" the younger boy wrapped his thin arms around his mother's leg, while Rom slammed into Jack with such force the air rushed out of the former Time Agent's lungs. He looked annoyed for about two seconds, before putting a hand on the boy's head.

Looking over Violet's shoulder, he shot the Doctor a critical look. "I thought I told you I didn't want them running around in here. Unless we're performing an experiment on the youngest age at which a Gallifreyan can regenerate…?"

Hands in his pockets, the Doctor shrugged. "There're more of them then there are of me. I was overwhelmed. Overpowered, even. I don't know what you expect me to do…"

Violet saw her mother's eyes light up as the Doctor approached. Yeah, looked like they'd worked everything out—whatever the hell that meant. When the Doctor put a hand on her arm, Vi couldn't help but smile. There were some things that were just meant to be and things that even big, bad conspiring universes couldn't stop.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" the Doctor asked her mother gently, hand resting on her arm.

Rose shrugged, holding her boy's head to her side as Branden tugged and twisted the leg of her maternity denim jeans. "Bed times are relative things. As long as I'm outta here and in bed before Ianto and the others show up, life is good."

Jack grinned, ripping some unknown device out of Rom's hands before the kid could kill himself or bring about the destruction of the world. Mercifully, and perhaps instinctively, Greg reached out and pulled the boy to him, offering a harmless (yet nifty) keychain from the forty-seventh century in the midst of Jackie-like protests. The boy pressed the button and gasped at the grapefruit sized holographic solar system that appeared. He'd be amused for all…of ten seconds, maybe.

Still keeping it light, Jack shoved a hand in his pocket, appearing rather grateful that he had been taken off 'keep curious children from killing themselves' duty. "Somebody doesn't deal well with Owen's snide remarks about Torchwood being no place for a lady in her condition." He only smiled harder when Rose rolled her eyes and grinned. "Third time around, and he still gets her worked up every day. I put Rose on 'the night shift,' as it were, after she broke his nose and blamed hormones."

Behind him, a monitor at another workstation began flashing red and blaring an alert. A few seconds later, all of them were—only they were different warnings. Jack sighed. "Today is starting out SO well." Sliding up to one of the machines, Jack flipped through the readouts.

The Doctor gave the boys each a stern look, eyes wide and informing them with just a glance that they were to behave themselves, then wandered Jack's way, pointing over the other man's shoulder at one of the warnings. "Oh as if THAT isn't the forward observer for an invasion army. Look at the size of that thing!"

Rose had to grab Branden's shirt to keep him from rushing over to the computer with 'Uncle Jack' and the Doctor. Rom practically had ants in his pants, he was fidgeting so badly—Violet could sympathise.

Greg looked away from the others and Violet tried not to make a face of annoyance. Trouble followed her around. It wasn't her fault. It was a genetic attraction, and heavens knew, you couldn't fight genetics. "Go on, ask it," he whispered, knowing her too well.

Looking from her mother to the Doctor and Jack, she grinned insanely, feeling very suddenly right at home. You couldn't go back, but you could certainly go forward, and sometimes, a bit of baggage—if it was the right baggage—was just the thing. "So…what's the plan?"

THE END.

A/N: Once again a shout out to my beta, Rosesbud. And a shout out to all of you. You are all made of awesomes. You've stuck with me this long and far, and somehow I got to the end  Never intended it to be quite so epic, but, well, here we are! Thank you for all the love and feedback and interest and excitement… it really does propel one through the tough times.

Hope you enjoy, and more fic soon! Got a Ninth Doctor/Rose/Jack adventure coming up, and after that? Who knows!

--TLG


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